


The Hereafter

by BreadedSinner



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Action/Adventure, Blue Hawke, Canon-Typical Violence, Complete, F/M, Family Bonding, Family Feels, Flashbacks, Grief/Mourning, Necromancy, Nightmares, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Sisters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-23 14:03:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 69,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2550191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BreadedSinner/pseuds/BreadedSinner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A search for missing Templars sends the Champion and her companions outside of Kirkwall, but Hawke is still shaken by the loss of her mother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Rift

**Author's Note:**

> A few short weeks before Inquisition comes out is probably not the best time to start writing a DA2-centered fic, but here we go.
> 
> This story will attempt to deal with family issues and grief. There will also be scenes depicting stressful situations, nightmares, and violence.
> 
> Many thanks to both dismalniece (@tumblr.com) and spiritofemby (@tumblr.com) for helping me edit thus far and their support.
> 
> This story was completed as part of the WIP Big Bang. A playlist for this story was created by sapphire2309 at Livejournal,
> 
> [so be sure to check it out!](http://sapphire2309.livejournal.com/76737.html)

Blood streamed through the streets of Kirkwall, silent and unseen in the foggy night. It sank into the cracks of stone stairs, seeping through the slits. It snaked along the tiles, flowing between buildings. A ribbon of red ran from Darktown to Lowtown like a rampant river, its movements in accordance with the hands of a mage. Dark flares emanated from the opened cuts in his arms, and pain pressed upon him like hot irons on his back. The pressure blurred his vision as he traversed the darkened maze of the city-state. But as long as the blood flowed, the path was clear. With clouded eyes and shaken nerves, the mage walked a clear path. The blood gave direction. It gave purpose.   

The clacks of hurried steps behind him rung in his ears and made his veins pulsate with panic. There were three men and one woman following him. The woman marched alongside the blood mage and the ground quaked around her. She shot the mage a dark and judgmental glare. Wanting to charge ahead but knowing she'd be lost without his magic, she gave him a look to let him know he was being watched carefully. He gulped and swiped the sweat from his forehead. He knew that she was leading, that she was in control. He was only making a path for her and her companions. The other three men--another mage, a strange looking elf, and a priest, of all things--were following her, not him. 

The blood ritual spread its dripping trail into the ends of Lowtown, where a desolate foundry building overlooked a fogged glass sea.

 

"I think this is it," said the blood mage as he ran ahead of the group to reach the door first.

"The killer is in that building?" said the woman in armor. Stress tinged her normally steady voice, as though she were trying to keep her footing on a ship being swallowed by a storm. "With my mother?"

"It should be, but... blast it."

"What? What is it?"

The blood mage waved his hands over the door and hissed in annoyance. "I suppose it was too much to hope he would get sloppy in his rush. He sealed the door."

"Then stand back," the woman announced, assuming a combative stance. "I'll break it down."

"No," he cried. "He sealed it with magic. I can undo it, just give me a moment."

"We don't have a...!" The armored woman stopped herself, lips clamped. She steadied herself with a rattling exhale and reduced her voice to a wisp. "Please, just do it quickly."

While the blood mage busied himself with the door, the three men watched their leader. She closed her fists and kept them to her sides. She kept her head down with uneasy breaths sliding through the tiny space between her lips. Her body was stiff and unmoving. In full clad armor, she looked like a statue, yet the twitches of her mouth and eyes made it seem like she would crack and crumble at any moment. The men exchanged tense, uncomfortable glances with one another, until one of them spoke.

"Hawke, please," It was the priest, a man in blinding white armor with gilded lining. He broke away from the other two men and walked next to the her. The blood mage shuddered at his indignant tone; prideful righteousness wrapped in the rolls of his words. "Please don't do this. You must know this is wrong. You're better than this."

"It's already done," the woman replied. She did not look at him, her eyes were fixed on the ground. "You've already made your argument, I've already decided to ignore it. We're already here, Sebastian, he's already completed the ritual."

"But it's not too late. We can still walk away from this and rescue your mother without resorting to blood magic. That templar, Ser Moira..."

"Is in the Gallows, a good two hours trip. We're here right now, and you want me to just walk away?" Hawke's fists began to shake. Uneasy breaths wormed into her words, threading every sentence with her rising panic. "What's wrong with you? Don't you understand? My mother is the prisoner of a killer as we speak. I have no idea what he might be doing to her. I don't like this. I'm not happy to do this. But this is the only way."

"No, it's not. You've always found a way before. You must know, if you deal with this maleficarum, there will be dire consequences. It may very well be your mother that pays the price."

"I'll worry about the ethical ramifications later. When my mother is safe. Gascard," she turned to growl at the blood mage. "Is that seal undone yet?"

"Nearly there," he replied. The dryness of his words made Hawke scowl.

"Damn it. Damn it, damn it..."

"Hawke, I'm begging you," Sebastian persisted, though trembling hands and shaking voice slowly whittled at his proud tone. "You will regret this."

"Enough," inserted the elven man with snowy hair and markings etched along his lanky limbs. His voice was harsh and heavy. "It's as Hawke said, the deed is already done."

"How can you say that, Fenris?" said Sebastian, eyes wide. "How are you not trying to stop her too? You know the evils of blood magic better than anyone. And you," he shot his focus at the apostate, a man with feathered cloak and thin, sullen face. "Is this not what you detest most of other mages, Anders? Is this not what you're trying to combat? How am I the only one trying to make Hawke see reason?"

"It's not a matter of reason," said Anders. "We don't like this anymore than you do, and I don't think Hawke likes it either. But this is... a difficult situation."

"She has made her decision, Sebastian," said Fenris. "I do not trust this is the right measure to take, and I do not trust that man or what he's doing. But I do trust Hawke and that she will deal with it."

"Any moment now," said Gascard with a shrug, to distance himself from the uncomfortable conversation.

Sebastian swallowed and backed away from Hawke to steady his composure and prepare for one last plea. He took Hawke's hands in his own, and it compelled her to look directly at him. He countered her with begging eyes of a shade of blue that burned through the dreary night mist. "I don't want you to do this. Not just because it's wrong, not even because of the consequence, but because... you will get hurt, and I don't want that to happen. Not ever. I care about you. If something were to happen to you, I couldn't... Please, Judith..."

Hawke was silent and still for a moment, the priest's impassioned words and pained expression stilled her quaking anger. She allowed herself to feel that way for a moment before sharpening her gaze and wriggling out of his gentle hold. "Do not 'Judith' me. You don't care about me or my mother."

"Of course I do! I..."

"No, you don't. You only care about being right. Like a good, priestly man should be. Well, I'm sorry I can't be that all the time. Follow every rule just so for every waking hour of my life. We don't live in a world where you can live and judge by such antiquated rules. I've been trying to show you that for a long time, but you don't want to see. If it were Grand Cleric Elthina that he had kidnapped, would you be holding back? Would you want me stopping you from rescuing her?"

The priest flinched, the mention of his mentor clogged his throat. "That, that's not fair, Hawke. We have no reason to trust this man. We saw proof of his foul magic, and you still went along with it, Maker knows why. You even saw the way he treated that poor woman, Alessa. I've never seen you act so irrationally. You know better. This isn't like you at all."

"How dare you look down on me like that, like I'm some foolhardy child. Gascard is the only one who knew anything of the killer. He was, had always been, my best chance at finding him. The guards didn't care, the Templars couldn't be bothered, the only one that tried was ignored and now he's dead. You said yourself this was a worthy cause. Has it stopped being so because it hasn't gone your way? Why don't you just say it, Sebastian? You'd rather risk my mother dying than risk dirtying your hands."

"I never said anything like that."

"You didn't need to." There was a finality in her voice that stilled the night winds and made the earth shake. There was a rumble rooted in her throat like shuddering thunder before the lightning strike. Even Gascard felt the resonance of her anger in the distance, a violent shiver up his spine as he worked. Anders tensed up and Fenris looked away. Sebastian gulped. In that moment, he wished Hawke were the sort to lose her temper more easily; screaming and yelling would have been easier to handle.  He had never seen her so angry, and it was for all the wrong reason.s "You disagreed with a lot of what I've done and not once have you had the courage to say it to my face. Make your broad claims and hand-waves as much as you like, it makes no difference. I am doing this. And I will deal with what comes."

"It's open," said Gascard, foundry door flying open before him.

Hawke's ears perked at the creak of the door. She watched the blood mage hurry inside, her two other companions after. She turned to walk away when she snapped back, a stony glare at the priest.

"If you won't help me," she snarled, "now when I really need you, then leave. Run back to the Chantry, throw yourself into Elthina's arms. Never make a hard decision for the rest of your life."

She did not wait for him to react. With the last boiling word steaming off her lips, she headed for the foundry.

His meager, "Please don't leave me," was left unanswered.

Sebastian remained, helpless as he watched his companions follow the blood mage into the decrepit building. He stared into the open door, pondering its unknown horrors, fighting the sudden heaviness in his hands and feet. The night was still, winds halted, bitter cold frosted his trembling lips.

"Let's hope we find more than a sack of bones," he heard Anders say. His words were followed by the disapproving growl of Fenris.

"My spell indicates Alessa is here somewhere," said Gascard, distance muffling his voice. "We're in the right place."

"More blood," said Hawke, her voice crumbling bit by bit. "They're in here, somewhere."

Their rushed footsteps traveled further away from him, until all he could hear were faint walks and whispers in the night. He swallowed hard. His thick brow furrowed and protruding nose crinkled against the cold grip of falling night.

His friends had wandered into a killer's den, and he watched them do it. They chose to follow the guidance of a blood mage over his own. If a priest could not sway people to walk from such clear danger, how could he ever hope to do the Maker's work? Yet there was also injustice in this lair. An innocent woman in the clutches of a dangerous killer. Worse yet, it was Hawke's mother; a woman he knew, a woman he saw in the Chantry often. A woman who did not deserve such cruelty. No woman deserved this. It was a trail of vile magic that led them here, but would abandoning the trail and leaving Leandra's fate to chance be any less cruel? Would being right give him any comfort if something happened to Hawke?

Sebastian clasped his hands together and muttered the Chant under his breath. He shut his eyes tight, sealed off his sense from the rest of the world. He flipped through pages of memory and traced along the words he searched for. The verse passed through him as easily as breathing.

"Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide. I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond. For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light, and nothing that He has wrought shall be lost."

When his senses returned and he found himself back into the harsh world of the living, he drew new breath and huffed up his chest. "I have to do this," he said sternly to himself. "For her." He pooled his strength into one heel and pressed it against the ground. He curled his foot until his toes hit and he reached a step towards the entrance. Then he did it again and again until one foot was in the opening, then the other. He soon gathered enough momentum and was through the door.

Inside the old building he found no one. Just rattling wooden paneling, crusted metal rails, and a dust-ridden floor. His heart thumped with a force that shook his whole body.

"Looks like your killer might be under the foundry," said Fenris, his voice coming from the lower level. The sudden sound of another made Sebastian hop in his skin, and he forced himself through the fear and down the stairs.

"This wasn't here before," he heard Hawke say from the other side of the wall.

"There's a whole network of tunnels, ins-and-outs, within and underneath Kirkwall," said Anders, "maybe the killer never stayed in one place and recently moved here?" 

When Sebastian caught up with the group, he found Hawke ripping a small wooden panel off the floor, revealing a new passageway. "Mother must be down there. With him. Be on your guard, there is something very sinister beneath us."  

"Wait," the priest gasped. He hunched down, hands on his thighs, puffs of bitter air bursting from his shaken lungs. The others gave little notice to his awkward return. Seeing Hawke halfway through the opening, Sebastian straightened his spine and forced out a meager, "I... I just..."

"It's fine," said Hawke as she leapt through the passage. Fenris inserted himself to the front so that he was not far behind Hawke in the descent. Gascard the blood mage went down the passage next, then Anders. Watching them go, Sebastian gulped in a ball of air and pushed it down his throat, so that it might loosen the knots and coils in his gut. "O Maker, hear my cry: guide me through the blackest nights. Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked..." When he released it, he followed.

The narrow stairs opened wide to a dank and dirty cellar, rotted furniture tossed about and a winding hall across the way. The thud of Hawke's armored feet against the floor summoned clouds of long-rested dust that stirred in the air.

By the time Sebastian reached the bottom floor with the others, Hawke was raising her sword from her baldric. His fingers brushed the arc of his bow. As he reached for an arrow, gobs of ooze and fire rose from the storm of smoke and crack of flames. As he lined a shot, the demons pulled themselves from under the earth with twisted, twitching fingers. Their bodies were lumps of grey meat strewn together by strings of black nerves and tattered cloths. Their deep, booming moans shook the foundry walls as they swept in on clouds of dust, floating towards their leader.  

Hawke stood in the center of the room. The creatures of the Fade encircled her; the shades groaned, and the demons cackled. A ring of fog and fire formed around her. Demonic powers took form in hazy, clouding gray. It spread through the room and made the men cough and wheeze, but Hawke was steady in her breathing and movements as the monsters drew closer to her.

She closed her eyes, took the handle of her sword, and plunged it into the ground. A surge of energy streamed up the blade and across her chest. She opened her eyes, her brown irises soaked in white. She exhaled, and light exuded her body. Her mortal shell became a flash-grenade of piercing rays. Ribbons of light cut through the murky dark as clear as any sword. They sliced at the sides of the demons, turned their moans into hollers, and blasted the smaller, weaker shades into a fine powder.

Hawke's smiting light faded, quick as it had come. The creatures that remained were stunned, teetering in a daze. Anders drew glyphs with a wave of his staff. Like fishnets, the patterns of glowing magic trapped the lesser demons where they stood, leaving them open for Fenris's hammer and Sebastian's arrows.

As the shades fell, a demon--a being of blubbering boils and liquid fire--gave a gargling roar. It thrashed its arms and spilled embers across the cellar. Hawke angled her sword as she charged in. She ducked the demon's attack, rushed in, and cut through the blob of a body. Steam screamed against her steel as she drove it deep inside the demon until it erupted into ash. Every fire extinguished at once with its demise, the soot sank into the ground.

 

"It would seem the killer is also a mage," said Fenris, shooting Gascard a blazing glare of green as he tightened the grip on his hammer. "You were aware of this, I assume."

"Y-yes," the blood mage gulped, "the man who killed my sister and has Hawke's mother is a mage, and a powerful one. That's why I had to turn to blood magic. It was the only way I could ever hope to take him. I did tell you to be ready for a fight on the way here, did I not?"

"And you should prepare for another when this is over."

"Fenris," said Hawke, "now is not the time."

"You." Gascard turned to Hawke, the very look of her stiff, stony visage making him shiver. "You have Templar abilities."

"I had exposure to lyrium when I was young, and some informal training." Hawke did not bother to look at him as she spoke matter-of-factly. She was walking towards the hall when her eyes flashed with shock. "Mother!" she cried, dashing to the side of the room, to an old canopy. Within there was a woman with short platinum blonde hair, lying on her side. Hawke grabbed the woman's shoulder and turned her over to behold a young but lifeless face. "Alessa..." she said backing away from the corpse of a woman she barely knew.

Anders shuddered. "Hawke, that woman doesn't look anything like your mother. Why would you...?"

"The killer must have gotten to her before she could reach the guards. Damn it, this didn't need to happen. I could have, I should have..."

"Hawke?" said Anders.

"Let's keep going. Hurry, we've wasted enough time."

The priest caught a glimpse of Alessa before the group left the room. The corpse was without feet, cut clean from her ankles. "Oh Maker," he said under his breath, making a quick gesture in prayer as he walked. "Guide that poor woman's soul to your side... but what is happening in this vile place?"

He noticed Fenris keeping close to Hawke as she hurried. Even as they carved their way out of a room filled with walking dead--a collection of rotted bones with blackened muscle between the joints--he was careful not to stray too far from her side. Or perhaps, the priest thought, careful to keep the other men at a distance.     

Sebastian stayed in the rear as they walked. Through another hall, passed another corner. The deeper they went, the closer the walls inched to them. Scrapings of wood peeled away, splatters of dried blood and bile cracked in the corners. "Maker's breath, that smell," Hawke coughed. He could hear the dread in her voice, slowly swallowing her resolve like a serpent devouring its prey.

Hawke made a sudden stop, then rushed to a nearby glint in a pile of rubble. She tossed aside rocks and clumps of dirt to fish out a pale silver necklace, the shine of it suggesting it had been in good care until recently. "I know this locket. This belongs to Mother." The chain clinked as she jammed it in her pouch and continued, muttering, "Blessed Andraste... please, please don't take her from me, too."

 Anders shrugged, mumbling, "She's losing her composure. Scary to see her like this."

Though it seemed like the mage was talking more to himself, Sebastian agreed with him, which was a rare thing. Ever since he had known her, Hawke had always been a steadfast woman, as firm in her temperament as in her sense of duty. He searched through memories of her, as many as he could while focused on the task at hand. They had crossed paths several times over the past few years, while he was struggling in retaking Starkhaven. They had not been anything resembling friends until a year ago, but a lot had happened since then. 

In those past few months, he found himself constantly at her side. To the point where standing beside her was as natural--as easy and welcome--as the flex of his fingers against a bowstring, or breathing in incense and peace in the Chantry halls. But the space between them was now cold, and growing. Fenris had been her friend much longer; clearly he knew what he was doing when he wedged himself between Hawke and the other men. Sebastian could only watch them go further away, and trail at the ends of her shadow.

He watched her run down the stairs and rip through another gathering of corpses like their bones were made of paper. He watched her warm olive tones flush from her face with gritted teeth. He watched fear and fury take over. He watched the woman he had come to idolize disappear.  

The archer had fired a single arrow into a hollow skull before the fight was done. When the dust settled, the group realized they were in a makeshift bedroom. Ratted, worn out, mismatched household items splayed on the basement floor.

"Is he living here?" asked Hawke, examining the moldy bedspread of hole-strewn sheets.

The two mages walked towards the shelves. Of all the objects within the space, the books packed inside were in the best condition.

"This is quite a collection," Anders said frankly as he picked one at random and flipped through it pages, then another. "Blood magic, necromancy. Where did he get all these?" The more Anders looked, the more compelled he was to dig through each shelf. He reached for more, studying every scribble he could fit in his arms.

"Why would he have these?" said Hawke. "What's he planning?"

She began to walk away from the mess when a glance pulled her back in. The four men followed her, old papers crunching under their feet. Beside a mess of crumbled notes and warped wooden chairs, there was a chest that acted as a pedestal for a portrait. It was the single clean and cared for object in the room, petals of fresh white lillies brushed tenderly against the carved frame. The streaks of paint were precise. Drops of oil swirled lovingly on the canvas to make warm brown skin and jet black hair; a noble and winsome visage with full lips, a broad nose, and high cheekbones.    

"The woman in the painting," Hawke gasped, "she, she almost looks just like mother."

"A shrine dedicated to a wife?" said Anders. "A sister?"

Hawke chomped down on her trembling lip, and marched away from the shrine. "I need to find her. Now."


	2. The Hurt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a quick note, this chapter is particularly violent.

Hawke stormed ahead, the ground cracked beneath her. Fenris sprinted to her side, a word of comfort on his lips, but she kept going and he could not keep up with her. He swallowed his attempt to ease her anxiety, and kept hurrying to maintain a short distance between them.

The other men bolted down the next flight of stairs to catch up to Hawke, but stopped once they saw their leader was still. A man in rags walked towards her from the other side of the room. Silver hair was slicked back, receding behind a wrinkled brow. Bags of black hung from his clouded eyes.

"I was wondering when you'd show up," the man said. A wiry smile crept along his thin, scraggly, sunken face. "Leandra was so sure you'd come for her."

"Where is she?" said Hawke, her voice layered with a demanding, domineering depth.

"Quentin!" Gascard barked. Hawke snarled at the interruption, but kept her steadfast stance.

"Gascard?" the tired looking man in rags lifted a pencil thin brow at the blood mage's intrusion. He smiled, as if entertained by happy coincidence. "So you've reached me after all these years? I figured you gave up."

"Gascard wishes to avenge his sister," Hawke declared, "he'd never give up."

Quentin let out a dry cackle that made Hawke cringe. "Oh, is that what you've been telling people, Gascard? Your sister?"

"Shut up!" said the blood mage. "I'm going to learn your secrets, old man. Everything you kept from me."

Hawke glared at Gascard. "This," she began, the words drudging out, as if the air was ripped from her lungs. "This is what it was about all along?"

"Oh, I do intend to kill him." the blood mage said, his cocky tone and redirected determination driving deeper wrinkles into Hawke's brow. "I will learn his art even if I have to crack his head open to expose the mysteries contained within."

"I'm sorry, Gascard," said Quentin. "When my wife died, I lost all hope. I wasn't able to be the mentor you deserved." He turned away and ran his withered hand along the table. His long fingernails, crammed with blood and muck, traced the warped lines of the wood, navigating from one corner to the arm of a nearby chair. He stared into the seat of it and his smile widened, eye flickered. Whatever he was looking at was bliss to him. "But now, my work is finished, and I can teach you, as I always meant to. Come back to me, Gascard."

"You'll let me be part of this? You'll teach me the secrets of necromancy?"

"I will keep nothing from you."

Hawke watched the blood mage step away from her side to stand with his mentor. Their treacherous, heretical words sunk into her skin like poison darts; her nerves in a spurring stir, tendons twisted and twitched. "If you join him," she growled, "you die with him."

The tug of Hawke's anger made Gascard wince, but he remained beside Quentin. "You are powerful, Hawke, but not that powerful."

"You have no idea what I'm capable of."

Quentin's smile contorted as he reached for the chair. "And now, Gascard, you will be the first to behold my greatest achievement. Do you know what the most powerful force in the universe is?"

"Whatever it is," said Hawke, hands on her sword, "it's a power that you don't deserve. I've had enough of this. Release my mother now or..."

"Love," he said, simply and with a chuckle, as he opened his palm. A pale hand clasped his own, and Quentin pulled it gently from out of the chair, his eyes glowing with affection. As the beginning of a body was hoisted from its seat, Hawke and her group could see crude stitching along the wrists; a border between two colors of skin. "I pieced her together from memory. I found her eyes, her skin, her delicate fingers. And at last, her face... oh, her beautiful face."

A woman's frame rose from the chair, wearing a long white dress, yellowed with age, and wrinkled frills. Once she was out of the chair, she stumbled across the floor. A white veil covered her face while she hobbled towards Hawke like a clumsily pulled puppet, but there was a clear stitch at the base of her neck. She knocked her head up and moaned, and all in the foundry basement could see.  

Leandra's face had been sucked of all her lively colors; her bronze skin was pasty, her cheeks and lips dusted into chapped chalk. Her silver hair had turned to fog grey straws. Her brown eyes dimmed to glassy marbles, sitting in scooped up sockets. Her skin was a patchwork of different tones, veins, and cut marks.

Hawke faltered, eyes shrunk and shaking. She lost her stern footing, as if the ground were collapsing under her feet and ready to swallow her whole. A monster approached, wearing her mother's face, as a final piece to the collection of stolen womens' parts. 

"I've searched far and wide to find you again, beloved," said Quentin. He and Gascard raised their staffs in unison. "and no force on this earth will part us."  

With enchanted staffs waving, bones in the ground rustled from their rest. They clicked together to form bodies. Demons rose through invisible tears, stirred from their otherworldly slumber. They crowded around the woman-shaped creature. The corpse wandered aimlessly while the demons and risen dead swarmed for Hawke and her men.

Anders, Fenris, and Sebastian readied themselves, but saw their leader was unmoved since she beheld what became of her mother. The edge of Hawke's sword was wedged in the ground. Tears rolled down pale cheeks, little whimpers escaped her lips.

"Hawke!" cried the archer. His voice did not reach her, so with a quick bend of his arms, he shot an arrow into the walking skeleton closest to her. He lined another shot, but more corpses and shades came from behind him.

"Hawke!" Fenris hollered, his voice as loud as the crash of bones against his hammer as he swept through a group of creatures. "Snap out of it! You have to fight! Fight!"

There was a flash, barely a second, and all three men could see something in Hawke snap. Her posture shifted; rolled shoulders, flared nostrils, hairs on end. Her clouded gaze became dark and sharp as she looked at the enemy, taking each one in. She squeezed the handle of her sword and charged off the floor like there was lightning in her feet.

She swung her blade through hollow ribcages and empty torsos. Grunts gurgling from gnashed teeth, Hawke bashed in skulls with her pommel, and when some skeletons came too close, their bones met the jab of her elbow. One by one, they fell to her force like houses in a hurricane.

 The shades and demons surrounded her, ignoring her companions to target her all at once. She stuck her sword into the ground and wiped their presence away with another burst of light. Their skin turned to dust before an arrow could be shot, or a single spell woven.

Desire demons withstood the blast of Hawke's attack with toothy scowls and hisses. They resisted the light, and countered with shrill screams that disoriented the three men, but Hawke shrugged them off. As the demons twirled dark magic in their long fingers, she bolted straight for them. Her sword glinted, clearing the dank cellar air and demonic mist, slicing through the purple scales of the creatures. The first was cut down and turned to ash, and the second--watching its comrade fall--spun strings of ice in its claws. With a wave, it flung icy daggers towards Hawke. She rolled to the side, her armor clinked as one grazed her. She then jumped to her feet and saw the second demon flinch from a bolt of magic energy that flew from Anders's staff, so she took the opportunity and slashed through the demon's open chest.

She ran for the third desire demon as it flicked flames under its nails. In the distance, Hawke saw Quentin and Gascard working magic to overwhelm her while distracted. She grunted, knowing she only had a few seconds, and swung at the demon's fire-woven claws. In the background she heard the mash of bones, flashing wisps of arcane light, and her own breathing getting harder and raspier. The rush of battle and the panic bubbling up from the pit of her gut made her spew sweat, and her vision blurred. Quentin's laughter hung overhead, mixed with the stench of rotted flesh. It reached for every corner like a toxic cloud, hazing her vision and stinting her movements.

There was a sharp zipping through the air, then the squish of broken flesh and a holler of pain, as an arrow shot through a clear path and into Gascard's shoulder. As the blood mage fell to his knees, another arrow was shot, but it was deflected by a barrier that enveloped him and Quentin in a curtain of white. More arrows came, but their sharpened heads bounced off the barrier.

The last desire demon drew a flicker of flames with a snap of its fingers and waved it in Hawke's face like a torch. Hawke backed her head away as a spark climbed up a sweat-strewn strand and singed her hair. She bucked forward, the end of her blade plunging through fire and scale until it prodded out from the demon's winged back. It screamed as its form turned to shapeless black dust around the sword. With weapon free again, Hawke raised it and ran, readying a mighty swing as her eyes began to glow.

As she ran, waves of white formed from underneath her feet. They wrapped around her legs, flowed to her waist, until they coursed along her whole body, pulsating with righteous fury. She swung her sword and the waves slipped across the steel as it banged against the barrier. The metal clanged, holy waves spilled onto the curtain, unraveling the magic that held it together until it and dissipated into nothing.  

Gascard wobbled back onto his feet, but another sharp zip of an arrow, and he was pinned to the floor. Quentin backed away, waving his staff, and a hex symbol poured from its tip to the ground. Waves of energy kept spurring from Hawke's feet, and as she marched towards the old mage, they washed away the cursing symbols, allowing her to walk towards him with no interruption.

"Stay back," he said, fingers twitching as he stammered away from Hawke. His once sly tone became fragile and shaking, his confidence squeezed out by the pressure of Hawke's stony gaze. Fizzling little bolts of lightning erupted from his staff. "I won't let you take her from me. She is everything to me. You will pay for this transgression, you who dare stand in the way of true love."

Hawke spat out a gob of blood and kept walking towards him, her cold stare steadfast. "How dare you," she said, inching closer, dark glazed eyes watching the fear in Quentin's face. "How dare you speak of love after what you've done. These women had homes, families, people who cared for them. They had talents and dreams. They had lives of their own and you took it all from them. Like they were nothing. Like their lives meant nothing." She watched the mage pedal back until there was no space left. His back met the wall and his pupils shrunk, his grey hairs spindled on the risen bumps of skin. "The name of the woman whose face you took... her name was Leandra," she continued. "She was a noble, but she ran away from home to be with a man named Malcolm, because she believed in love. She knew what it was. Even when things were hard--which was often--she never stopped believing. She... she loved to dance. She loved romantic adventure stories and braiding hair. She had two daughters and a son. And all she ever wanted was to be happy and safe with them. But those things never mattered to you, did they? They never even occurred to you."

She stopped as she heard the stretch of a bowstring behind her. Gascard was at her feet, wading in an expanding pool of blood. Moaning, the blood mage attempted to hoist himself back up with shaking arms. All of his shades and demons were gone. Hawke's companions were close behind, ready to strike at her signal. Gascard lifted his head, and the bowstring was ready to snap; an arrow between the eyes would bring a quick death.

She raised her palm flat, signaling for her archer to cease fire. "You don't care, do you?" she continued, watching Quentin's glassy eyes bulge with panic. "You have no remorse. You do not have the face of a man who regrets anything. All I see is an animal in a corner, with nothing left to lose." In the clutch of his curled talons, a small flame burst into crackling kindle. "Go ahead," she snarled. "Let's see how you fare when women start fighting back."

Quentin's flame flew from the cradle of his palm, but Hawke was quicker. She jammed her sword in the floor, and her form was enveloped in white. The mage's fire fizzled against the massive brilliance of the blast.

Her light phased through Quentin like rays of holy judgment beaming through darkness, banishing shadows. It sank into his skin, stung the nerves, boiled the blood, stopped the flow of cells. The mage's fingers curled and shriveled like vines under the sun. He pooled what little strength he had into one lifted arm to begin another spell, but his skin gave no spark, powers sapped. His body was a hollowed, wrinkled husk. The light warbled his vision and he fell to his knees.

The earth clanged as Hawke dropped her sword and continued her walk towards the mages. She first came to Gascard, overwhelmed by pain and loss of blood. His chest heaved slightly, but he was punctured, bruised, and bloody. He would be dead soon.

But not soon enough. Hawke looked downed at him with glaring teeth, disdain wedged in every muscle in her face. "Liar!" she spat out, the one word heated like flame from a dragon's mouth. She placed her armored foot upon his nose. Her three companions watched as she applied force and stomped into his skull, his face caving in around the plating of her boot. Anders and Fenris were both still, but Sebastian winced at the first crunch of bone, whimpered at the first gush of popped flesh. Blood splattered from underneath Hawke's heel. She lifted her foot from the opened gash that was once Gascard's head, then proceeded to Qunetin.

The old necromancer was in a daze; half conscious, rocking back and forth on his knees. She swung her armored knuckles into one sullen cheek, then the other. All three men cringed. The mage's face was a mix of purple and red, pulpy and swollen, but she did not stop. She balled his hair in her fist and slammed his face with her knee. The blow made him fall on his back. She bent over his chest so she could grab his shoulders to shake him and slam him into the ground.

"You don't even care," she cried, voice hoarse as she worked herself into a continuous motion of swings on the unconscious old man. She alternated between shoves, slams, slaps, and punches. Anything to make him hurt. "You don't even care. You don't even care."

Every walloping of pounded flesh sent shudders through the backs of her companions. They exchanged blank stares as the foundry fell quiet; all except for Hawke's brutal assault. Demon bodies were disintegrating all around them, twists of black dust spiraling to nothing, leaving the faint scent of charred meat scattered about the lair of abominable deeds.

There was a throaty gasp against the swing of her fists. A feeble whimper against gushing meat and leaking blood. One last squeaking little breath of ache before the body gave out. The old voice was silenced, his battered limbs stiff and soaked, but the sound of Hawke's grunting and pummeling continued.

Anders, Fenris, and Sebastian watched with mouths agape as their leader continued to flail against Quetin's corpse. She growled and grunted as she flung her fists, her face splattered with blood and sweat.

"Hawke!" hollered Anders, his voice cracked in disgust and horror. "What are you doing?"

Fenris clenched his fingers tight, but could not stop himself from shaking. "Hawke, stop," he said, trying to be calm, "it's over."

"Judith, please!" Sebastian cried, eyes misty and arms trembling. "He's already dead!"

"You don't even care," she said again, unmoved by the pleas of the men at her back. Though her voice had become rough and raspy, the words cycled and flowed from her mouth, like a chant of hate and need for blood. "You don't even care, you don't even care."

 


	3. Orphans

Sebastian took a step towards Hawke, hand outreached for her, but saw he was still shaking. "Please stop," formed in his throat as a poignant plea, but came out his mouth as a pitiful whine. He turned to Fenris. "We have to get her out of here," he begged of his friend.

"I know," he said, voice low and gritted with pain. He never took his eyes off Hawke as she continued to throw her bloodied fists at the corpse. He grit his teeth. "I've just never seen her so... we have to be gentle with her."

"Of course."

"Hawke! Your mother!" Anders yelled. When his intruding voice reached Hawke, she dropped Qunentin's bloody collar and his body fell to the floor. She turned and found the stitched up woman corpse stumbling away. The crumpled yellow ends of her long dress caught dirt as it dragged along the cellar. It moaned as it struggled to lift a foot over the bottom stair. "Maker," the apostate gasped, "is she trying to leave? Does she know where she is?"

Fenris beheld the site in cold horror, low pitched words from a strapped throat and fumbling lips. "Is Hawke's mother... still in there somehow?"

"Mother!" Hawke cried as she ran for the stairs. The corpse wobbled up one step, one foot hovering over the second, then she lost balance and teetered backwards. Hawke rushed to the end of the stairs and caught her as she fell. "Mother..." Hawke's knees shook until they could take no more, and slammed against the ground. The corpse body unfurled in Hawke's arms like she was giving up on a long and fruitless struggle. Her arms uncoiled, knuckles in the ground, and head knocked down. The tiara and veil rolled off the top of her head. There was a faint mumbling beneath Hawke's sobs.

"There's... nothing I can do," said Anders. "The magic that was keeping her alive..." 

"I knew you would come," said Leandra. In a fleeting moment of lucidity--like one last breath before drowning--she collected her strength and lifted up her head to look her daughter in the eyes. The clarity of her words silenced Hawke.

"Don't move, Mother," said Hawke. There were lumps in her throat from swallowed anguish. "We'll find a way to..."

"Ssh, don't fret darling." Leandra's voice was gentle and soft, wrapping the grizzled bloody scene in an uneasy calm. Every word that passed was fainter than the last. "That man would have kept me trapped in here. But now... I'm free. I get to see Carver again... and your father. But you'll be here alone."

"I should have watched you more closely, I should have..."

"My little girl has become so strong." Leandra's stitched fingers, feather light, reached out for Hawke. The stitched digits trembled, the simple motion a painful ordeal, and brushed against her daughter's cheek. "I love you," she said with a serene smile, a spark of her original self glinted in the eyes. "You've always made me so proud."

Then the fingers wilted and fell away from Hawke's face. They drifted to the bottom, uncurled against the foundry floor. Every tensed muscle came undone in her daughter's arms, every last cling to consciousness melted away. Her smile came undone and the glint faded, leaving a blank expression on a collection of limp body parts.

Hawke's hair was matted down with sweat and blood, hanging over like a veil so none could see her face. Anders had stepped away, fists tight and eyes closed, waiting for the moment to end. Fenris stood close, as if standing watch, so that no one may interrupt. Sebastian remained where he was, paralyzed with uncertainty. The prayers that would normally come to him and sweep peace in to his mind were absent. All he could hear was Hawke sobbing, broken by chokes and swallows; she was still trying to keep it all down, futile as it was. Every fiber in his body told him 'do something', but no answers came. He soaked his gloves with sniffling tears.

One last pained chortle, and Hawke released her grip and stood up. The corpse softly patted the ground. She was still, looking up to the ceiling. A few last gulps to push down the rest of her tears, until her face was cracked and dry. 

"Hawke," said Fenris. He walked towards her, pacing the spaces between his soft steps and calmed words. "I, I don't know what to say. I'm sorry. We should leave this place."

"We need to inform the Guard," Hawke blurted out.

"Then I will get the Guard. I will take care of this for you. It's all I can do..." He ducked his head down in shame and uncertainty.

"No, I should be here. I need to tell Aveline myself."

"I can tell her. Aveline will understand. Haw... Judith. This place. It's not good for you to be here any longer. Please listen to me."

Sebastian saw the quick glint of Fenris's eyes in his direction, looking to him for help. Obliging, he stepped forward. "I am so sorry, Hawke... but Fenris is right. We need to get you out of here. Let me walk you home."

"Why?" said Hawke. "So you can lecture me on how you were right all along? That I was a fool to stray from the Maker's good graces?"

Her words were dulled by the grumbling, groggy tone of her voice, but they cut the priest all the same. "Of course not," he said, flinching. "I wouldn't. Please believe me."

"Besides, I can't just leave her here." Her eyelids crinkled, as if she were fighting the temptation to look back down at the corpse at her feet. As if allowing herself to look at Leandra would break her down all over again. "It's bad enough... this world must take away everyone I love. They have to desecrate their bodies, too. One final insult. One more thing to haunt me, because I couldn't... I couldn't..."

"We won't leave her here. Once the Guard is informed, I'll go back to the Chantry and begin preparations. Everyone will be respectful, I promise you."

She did not answer. With shaking nerves and tensed tendons he stepped towards Hawke and put his hands on her broad shoulders. She kept her face turned away from him, but did not resist. "Judith, I understand..." 

"You do not."

"But I do. We don't have to talk about it now, but please, just let me help you..." Between strands of fallen, slicked hair, the priest spotted a patched of scorched skin on the woman. He brushed away her bangs and revealed the burn on her cheek, just beneath the old scar that crossed her eyes. "Oh, Hawke, you've been burned."

"It's fine."

"It's not fine," Sebastian said, his voice cracking, mist building up in the corners of his eyes. "You're not fine."

"Here," interrupted Anders. He came between the two, his hands beaming with healing green light. "I can heal that in a moment, then we can leave."

"Don't touch me!" Hawke's voice blast into a throaty shout. With a violent jerk, she smacked away Anders's magic and ripped herself away from Sebastian's gentle hold.

The apostate scowled. "Hawke, I know you're hurting, but that's not going to get better on its own. I just wanted to help."

"I don't want your help, mage."

His face flared in anger. "How can you possibly..."

"Anders, now is not the time," said Sebastian. He looked at Hawke as she stepped further away, her arms folded across her stomach, and sighed. He went to Fenris, took a small vial and cloth from his belt pouches and placed them in his palm. "Here, I have some ointment for the burn. I think Hawke would be more comfortable... if you took her home. I will go get Aveline."

"That... would be best, I think."

"And Anders, you may want to leave now, before the Guard gets here."

"You don't have to tell me twice." 

 

Sebastian watched Anders storm off, then he watched Fenris extend an opened hand to Hawke, which she eventually accepted, and they walked out together.  He stood over the remains of Leandra and muttered a prayer before he left.

 

He watched the guards pour into the foundry, but did not dare to go back in himself. There were bodies lifted up and carried away in wraps as he walked away.

 

He drudged along the stone steps that spiraled from Lowtown to Hightown, a climb so high and long that bright fingers of dawn were peaking through the starless night by the time he reached the top. Vendors were beginning to set up their stalls in the Market square as he passed, same as they did everyday. As if nothing strange had occurred beneath them. He shuddered as he walked up another flight of stairs, through another walkway of estates and pillars. His throat shut; he was getting closer to the Hawke Manor, and hours had passed, but no comforting words had come to him, as he had hoped. When her home was in sight, sweat dribbled down his forehead. Closer still, the family emblem clear in sight over her door, and his heart thumped heavily, hearing the footsteps of another close by. The priest backed away, behind the corner of the walkway he had passed, and watched Aveline march straight through the plaza and into the estate. There was no strain or anxiety in her approach.

He put his head against the wall and sighed. Relief eased the tension in his limbs, but a twinge of guilt remained, running its crooked claw along his spine. "She wouldn't want to see me anyway." Once he heard the estate door firmly shut, he walked through the plaza and back to the Chantry, accepting the pain in the creak of his back.

 

A few days later, Sebastian watched Leandra's body burn. The body was carried on a bier of wood and needles soaked in oils. She wore a dress of linen and lace, befitting a noblewoman of the Free Marches. The body in carriage wafted in the hands of the procession, passing through the gates of the Chantry garden. He walked with the Grand Cleric and all the sisters, surrounding the carriers with torches, lighting their way in the dark evening. Hawke lead the way, the vanguard of the mourners. They drifted through the Hightown streets like an incoming fog. Her torch seemed to burn brightest, but against the flicker of flame, he saw her expression was blank. Her tired eyes were glazed against the fire, the bags underneath accentuated by the light. It was as if she had not slept, had not moved, since he last saw her in the foundry.

Soft whimpers, prayers, and songs floated in the arid summer air, but Hawke was silent. He knew the others were around somewhere, save for the mages, but all he could see was her unmoving face.

When they arrived in the center of the garden, Grand Cleric Elthina took her place beside Hawke and began the prayer of the final sending. Normally the holy words of his mentor, laced with tender wisdom and delicate purity, would ease the stormy waters of Sebastian's mind. But as much as he tried to focus, her words came out as a wringing blur.

When the Grand Cleric finished, Hawke was the first to lift her torch and bring it to the brier. It was her flame that first spread along the timbers and burned her mother's dress. The other mourners approached after, and soon Leandra's body was enveloped in flames.

From across the blooming fire, the priest saw a young woman in Circle robes walk to Hawke's side. She was shorter than the statuesque warrior, she had wider and rounder frame and features than the broad and angular Hawke, and she had wavy black hair where Hawke's was straight and brown. But they both had dark brown skin and big brown eyes, and there was a proud and noble essence to both of them that made him think they were related.

"Oh Judith," the young woman sobbed, burying her flushed and puffy face in Hawke's shoulder. "It's all gone so wrong."

He watched Hawke flinch as the mage tucked herself in her arms. It was as though affection was a force unknown to her, and she did not know how to react. Whatever words uttered between the two women were too soft for the priest to hear, and overpowered by the snaps of flame and the cracking of wood.

"Her sister," a low voice stumbled in beside Sebastian. He turned and saw Fenris with his head down. "Bethany. She was... taken to the Circle several years ago. It was before you came to us."

"I knew she had a mage sister, I think I may have seen her a few times in the Chantry... but we never formally introduced."

"For what it's worth, Sebastian, I don't think you did anything wrong back there. She just needed to be alone. When I got her home, she did not send me away, but I could tell that's what she wanted. Not that there was anything I could say. I think Aveline could see it as well, so she left."

"She... she left her? But... Hawke should not be alone. This is her hour of need. If I had known..." He bowed his head in shame. "It should have been me. I should have been there for her."   

Fenris shrugged. "As I took Hawke home, all she could say was... that she was too late. I imagine she meant for Bethany and her brother, as well."

"Her brother...?" The sudden realization made Sebastian gasp, disgusted with himself. "That's right, she said Leandra had two daughters and a son... but Judith never spoke of a brother. Surely I would have remembered..."

"Only Bethany ever spoke of him. It was her twin, Carver. I believe he and Hawke were soldiers in their homeland before the Blight, and he died during their escape."

The priest covered his cringing frown with one hand, palm against the shameful crinkles forming on his face. "Oh, Judith... if I'm not there for you, now when you really need someone, then what good am I to you?" He peaked through the spaces of his fingers to spot Hawke and her sister, but their forms were lost in the billowing pillar of smoke as it sprouted from Leandra's burning brier and spiraled into the heavens. 


	4. Sky Demon

A monster watched overhead.

 

Its body was paper thin, open slits for eyes. It stretched across the sky, a translucent film wrapped over the dimming starts. It never moved on its own, only watched and flapped with the wind. Judith Hawke caught glimpses of it through spaces between the trees above, but she paid it no mind. The creature expanded across the heavens, as natural as a mountain's overcastting shadow. It was a part of this world. 

Below, sheets of mist unfurled from the darkest corners of the forest. It tumbled along the dewy tips of grass and into a blood-smeared clearing. It trailed over the thicket of twigs and rocks, obscuring the act that took place there. As it tangled itself into the wood, it slowly distilled the stench of rot and death.

Judith knelt in the middle of the bloody forest clearing, as a young woman. She cradled a fallen man, the back of his skull in her palm. She was hunched over, teeth pressed so hard on her lip that she drew blood.

"I'm sorry, little bird," said the man, urging words through the gunk in his mouth. "I'm so sorry..." 

Morning light spilled into the forest. Pale yellow ribbons splayed themselves through openings in the thicket of treetops, rolled along their barks and onto the mesh of stained green. As the light spread, it came upon the two, wading where the blood was thickest; against the rays, the blackish hues turned bright red.

"Papa don't," said Judith, a spat of indignation and resistance that made the forest shudder. She took a hard swallow, pushing down her rattling nerves, and began to tear the rim of her nightshirt. "Don't talk anymore, you're only wasting energy. I'll stop the bleeding. Then Bethany can fix you up, you'll be good as new."

"Bethany only knows the basics of Creation magic and I... I've lost too much blood."

"Give Bethany more credit, Papa. I just need to get you home. Just relax, I can do this."

As the man in her arms coughed, the girl looked across the clearing. The blood spread around them, painting every corner in her sights. It trailed through the clearing and connected to another pool, from another body. It was motionless; nothing but a lump of grey meat. She glanced at it for a moment, watching sunlight creep over its crooked spine, and cringed.

Judith tore up her nightshirt into straps and covered all her father's cuts until her stomach was bare, but the blood was still everywhere. She cried and shouted for help until her throat was hoarse, but it only stirred nesting birds. She felt her father going limp in her arms; his hands made a heavy thump against the ground. She looked around once more and still found herself alone. Accepting the fact that help was not coming, and with a quick swallow to push down the rising bile of fear, she laid her father onto the grass and stood up to find help herself.

The clouds were ripped apart and the sunlight shifted, as if the whole world were being picked up and titled. The sudden shake knocked Judith off balance and turned her ankles to jelly. Her knees and palms slammed into the soft, wet earth. Queasy and blubbery, gobs of tears plopped from her face onto the ground. In a fit of sobs, she cranked her neck up and saw the world shudder around her. Needles rustled as they shed from their branches. Mud and puddles hopped in their holes. The mountains in the distance were dislodged from their ancient foundations. The two fresh corpses in the clearing were sliding in their own blood.

The monster materialized. Its phantom form grew a stony coating in its descent from the ether. It towered so high, shreds of clouds adorned its neck like wispy scarves. Judith opened her mouth to scream, but her voice was scraped dry. She watched a giant hand, with fingers like columns of bricks, scoop up her father's body. Malcolm's limbs swung in the air as he was lifted from the clearing.

With all that was left of her strength, she outreached one hand and whimpered, "No. No, please don't take him from me."

If the monster was aware of the crying tiny woman, it made no show of it. It curled in its fingers and raised its hand with her dead father inside. As it drew further away, the world reverberating from its single movement, the coating disappeared. Its earthly form invisible, and Malcolm along with it, pulled from all mortal tethers.

On all fours, too weak to stand or shout, Judith watched the monster and her father fade from existence.  She balled the grass in her fists and felt a sticky warmth creep up her fingers. She shuddered, thinking it morning dew, but when she looked down, she found her mabari. A war hound, bulky with grayish-brown fur, licking her hand.

"Ah, Gallant..." she moaned, giving the dog a scratch with her wet hand before sitting up in the bed. The haze of the dream shed from her eyes as she rubbed them with her free hand. The forest clearing melted from her sight, replaced with the plush sheets and draping canopy of her bed. The sharp smell of wet pine disappeared, replaced with the smoky scent of an extinguished fireplace. Tears, water, fresh blood, and goose bumps on a young woman's body were gone, transformed into the weathered muscles and dried old scars of an experienced warrior. She looked down and saw she was still in her clothes, a loose black tunic and trousers. She then looked up and saw dim ribbons of grey and purple light refracting from her bedroom window. "Damn, I slept through another day..."

Gallant tilted his head and whined. "You could tell I was having a nightmare, couldn't you, boy?" She balled fists in the blankets as she tried to lift herself off the bed and onto her feet, but an ache sprouted from the pit of her gut and rooted through her limbs. Her arms shook and she fell back on the bad. "Ah, could've used the wake-up call a few hours ago..." The dog's triangular ears flipped as he gave low, conversational grumbles. "No, I'm sorry, that's not your fault, it's mine."

Hawke gave him another scratch. Taking it as an invitation, the dog bent down, stubby tail wagging, and launched himself on the bed. "Gallant!" she snapped at the sudden bounce of the mattress, nearly flinging her off the bed. The dog nudged himself against her with happy fervor. Still weary from her long sleep, she folded her arms over his back and leaned in. "Thank you for waking me when you did," she muttered with a low and cracked voice. The dog fidgeted against the weight of his master as she collapsed, fingers in his back fur, his bulk muffling her chortled sob. "I just couldn't... I couldn't do anything."

"Hawke? Messere?" came Bodhan's voice from behind the bedroom door, joined with a fretful knocking. "Messere, are you awake? May I come in?"

Hearing the worry in the dwarf's words, she swallowed the strain in her voice and projected a clear, "Yes, Bodhan, I'm up."

The door creaked open and a stout bearded man popped in. "I'm terribly sorry to disturb you, my lady, but dinner is ready, and it's not like you to miss a meal."

"No, it certainly isn't," she said, forcing a light laugh.

"You've been asleep most of the day, too. I was beginning to worry. I tried to wake you, but you were so deeply asleep."

"I'm sorry, Bodhan, I suppose I've just been... tired."

The door flew open, knob banged against the wall, as Bodhan's son, Sandal, ran into the room. He flopped himself over Judith's lap and looked up at her with wide, wiggling eyes. "Please wake up," he said.

"I'm awake now, Sandal, but thank you."

"Wake up?"

"I promise you, I've woken up. There's no need to worry." Gallant began to whine again, and Sandal imitated the sound with a big frown and trembling lip. "Oh, you two. I can't bear to see those faces. You know puppy eyes are my weakness."

"My lady?" another, frail voice peeped from the hall. A young elf woman with a small frame and near-white blonde hair popped her head in the door. "Are... are you coming for dinner? I made your favorite stew. It's got chicken and potatoes and... all the things you like. If you don't want any, though, I understand."

"Orana, please, it's all right. You know I love your cooking." She kept up a steady smile, seeing everyone in the Hawke Estate worried for her, wanting to care for her. She felt her stomach twist, but it was not empty. There was deep grumble from the pit of her gut, but it wasn't hunger. She pictured the warm stew--golden broth and glistening chunks of meat--but the image only sent curdling cringes from her head that rippled down her body. But she saw their sad, wide eyes all upon her, and conceded. Her long legs shook as she stood up, but after a few stumbling steps, she regained steady footing and reached the door. "All right, I'm ready now. Let's all have dinner together."

 

The food was as she pictured; better even, with fresh vegetables and bits of meat so thick, they absorbed most of the broth, making them plump and dripping with juices. She looked into her bowl and the knot in her gut persisted. Her head still swam with weariness, touching her food with edges of grey.

Bodhan, Sandal, and Orana were chatting around her. "So I leave the boy off at the bathhouse so he can affix the heat runes, right?" the older dwarf rambled on. "Well, I came back after my errands to get him, and wouldn't you know, there's bubbles spilling from out the door! Don't know he managed to make that big a mess, I don't think they even had that much soap in the building! So then..."

His voice began to blur, their words becoming fuzzy nothings floating around her head. She looked down into her bowl and tried to focus on eating. She stabbed a piece of meat with her spoon and it squished against the curve. The sound only triggered her stomach to fold in, the lines against her frown to deepen.

"Ah... Hawke?" said Bodhan. She looked up and found her three helpers looking at her with worried frowns. Their bowls were all nearing empty, the streams of steam long faded. "Is something the matter?"

"I don't understand," said Orana. "I made it like I always do..."

"Oh!" Hawke cried, realizing what she had done. Her spine snapped straight and her eyes popped. "Oh no, Orana, I'm sorry. I'm just... still tired. I just needed a moment for the smell to wake me up." Still feeling their worried gazes on her, she scooped as much of the stew as she could in one spoonful and shoveled it into her mouth. It swished in her mouth like grimy gruel. Broth dribbled down the corners of her lips and her cheeks swelled as she chewed. The lump in her throat engorged as she forced down a heavy swallow. The food dropped to the bottom of her gut like a cannonball on a brick floor, but she held in the urge to gag and groan and wedged in a crooked smile. "It's wonderful, as usual. Thank you so much."

The girl's ears twitched downward and big eyes wiggled. Seeing the worry and disbelief, Bodhan spoke up again to fill the quiet. "Ah, you know... maybe this is for the best. You've been pushing yourself so hard. You haven't given yourself a proper break since becoming Champion."

"Well, you don't get a title like that by lazing around in bed all day," said Hawke as she gulped down another spoonful.

"Now, now, you're the least lazy person in all of Kirkwall and everyone knows it, including you. You need to rest, is all. After all that's happened, who could blame..."

"The fighting broke out so fast," Hawke's voice dropped. Her spoon began to shake, droplets of stew falling back into the bowl. "I wanted to talk them down, brought Fenris with me because he spoke the language, knew more about them then I did. I was certain, with the two of us, the Arishok would listen to reason. We were talking. Aveline said some things I didn't like, and I said some things she didn't approve of. Then a guard fell dead, and another, and all I could do was to keep going, keep fighting. I... never apologized to the three of you. I couldn't reach you in time. I left you all alone."

"There's no need for apologies. You're the reason Kirkwall is still in tact. And we're all here safe, aren't we? The Guard gathered most of us and got us to the Chantry. Few Templars too, I think. Working together to protect everyone. If I hadn't been so scared, I would have been inspired."

"The grumpy one helped us!" exclaimed Sandal.

"You're absolutely right, my boy. Your friend Fenris was the one to get us, actually. Took a few Qunari down escorting us to the Chantry."

"He took my hand," Orana said softly with a smile. "He asked me how I was doing. I told him you were taking very good care of me, and he said he didn't doubt it."

"I didn't know that," said Hawke, "after the attack began, we split up, but we rejoined when I stormed the Keep. I'm not surprised, though. I can always count on Fenris. Thank you for telling me."

"He stayed guard for a while, before more guards came. Then he left to find you. Isn't that right, boy?"

"The shiny man went with him."

"Shiny man?" asked Hawke.

"Err, yes. That priest fellow with the bow and the fancy white armor who accompanies you from time to time."

"Oh," The Champion gave up trying to eat and looked up at the dwarves. "You mean Sebastian."

"Yes, and now that I remember, he was more worried than I was. Did a lot of pacing. Saw him talk to the Grand Cleric a lot, I think I heard him say your name a few times, but I don't know what it was about. Eventually he and Fenris left together."

"I see."

The Chantry bells rang from the other side of Hightown, the echo blasting through the manor windows. Hawke hopped in her seat at the shock of the clarion clanging.

"Are you all right?" asked Bodhan.

"I'm fine, just surprised," she sighed. "Maker, I haven't gone to the Chantry in weeks. I used to go all the time."

"We could go now, if you like."

"No, no, I can't go now, just like that. The day's nearly done, I need to do something. Are there any messages for me?"

"Yes, actually. Several. There's even one from the Knight Commander."

"What?" her voice spiked up and her eyes went wide. The last of her sleepy dreariness shook off as she snapped out of her seat.

"It was just a few hours ago, and I told her messenger you were unavailable. It's all right."   

Hawke did not respond. She turned away and walked out of the dining room and into the foyer. She frowned at the sight of a stack of papers.

"The newest ones are on top," said Bodhan as he followed Hawke to the desk.

"Can't even rest for a few days," she said to herself as she flipped through the letters, her brown eyes skimming through each to determine their urgency. "Meredith wishes to speak with me as soon as possible, but it doesn't say what it's about."

"There aren't any more ferries to the Gallows until morning. I'm sure the Knight Commander doesn't mind waiting another day. She's, ahem, a reasonable woman. Reasonable enough."

Hawke sighed as she put Meredith's letter down and focused on another. "This one is from Bran's office. Wants me to take care of bandits sighted by the Wounded Coast. Could've given this job to anyone. Probably just busywork so I stay out of the Keep longer. That's all I'm good for, right?" Her voiced cracked, coarse and husky. She slammed the letter into the desk, the thwack against the wood made the two dwarves and the elf shudder simultaneously. "Just killing things, right? I'm practically a sword with legs, isn't that so?"

"Messere, please," pleaded Bodhan. "Let's just finish dinner and relax. You can worry about all these jobs later."

"No, you know what?" She began walking all over the house; up the stairs to change, grabbing her sword and pieces of her armor. "He wants me to do busywork, I'll do busywork. I just need to get out, do something. Anything."

"Oh no, please reconsider," Bodhan protested, following her down each hall.

"But you didn't wake up yet," whined Sandal.

"Your dinner is cold," said Orana. She picked up one of Hawke's armlets and presented it to her, but her eyes were wide and sad and her ears drooped.

"I'm sorry, Orana," she said, accepting her help and lifting her arms so Orana could clasp it on. "It was wonderful, but I just can't eat now. I'll finish it later."

"Oh, okay," her ears perked as she fastened the straps on Hawke's chest plate.

Bodhan grumbled at Orana's change of tone and alliance. "I really must insist that you wait. This isn't like you at all."

"No, this is exactly like me. I've barely done anything these past few days. I want to go and help in some way. I want to feel like myself again."

"Will you at least get your friends to help? The Chantry is just a short walk away, after all. I'm sure your priest friend will be more than happy to..."

"No," Hawke's response was quick and cold. "That won't be necessary. It's just a few thugs, that won't be any trouble for me. Besides, Sebastian leads the evening service, I can't... that is, I wouldn't be able to see him."

"Then what about Aveline, or Isabela?"

"I'm not asking the Guard Captain to help me with a simple task, and Isabela's gone."

"Then perhaps..."

"Bodhan. It's fine. I promise. I'll be back soon."

"No dessert?" asked Sandal.

Hawke smiled at the young dwarf. "Go ahead without me," and she left the estate, her mabari thumping at her side, Bodhan's bemoaning behind her.


	5. A Crack in the Wall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point, I would like to point out that I will be making little tweaks here and there in the canon. For example, I never liked Varric's nickname for Isabela, since it doesn't actually say anything about her. So I went with Kylenne's (archiveofourown.org/users/Kylenne/pseuds/Kylenne) idea that he calls her "Captain", instead.

The Chantry bells subsided, their echoes melted in the gentle evening breezes. The sun drifted behind purple curtains, and its last streams of light dispersed in the clouds. With every step the Champion took, every district shut its doors behind her, with nobles and guards filing through the streets.

Hawke, in her armor and with sword at her back, navigated through a lulling Hightown. Head down and arms locked tight against her sides, she walked down the massive steps that led to the middle layer of Kirkwall.

Lowtown still flared with noise as daylight died; ten people in the stony clutter for every noble in spacious, garden-lined Hightown. Drunks and beggars scattered in the alleys. Merchants, miners, and dock workers bustled through the arches, to their apartments stacked together in the enclaves of the city walls. Hawke forced a smile and waved to the people that suspected the Champion's presence, but otherwise kept her focus, turning tight corners to the clearest path. Onlookers melded with the crowds, their comments lost in the sifting chatter; by the time they realized the woman in black armor was the city's savior, she had already marched far away.

She walked down a set of stairs that joined a collection of stalls--a makeshift market district--to blocks of living spaces. The first building at the foot of the stairs was a tavern. It was tactfully wedged between the shops and apartments, and marked by a small burlap man hanging from a string by the entrance. She made a sharp turn and hugged the walls when laughter sprung from the door. A light, silvery giggle, joined with a low, raspy chuckle, both familiar. Hawke continued down her path, as she had work to do, but she was stopped by a cheerful, "Hey Hawke!" by the deeper voice.

She cringed at being caught, but quickly cranked a small, polite grin as she turned to greet her friend. "Oh, hello, Varric."

"Shit, that's all you have to say?" said the dwarf in an open duster and heavy stubble. His voice was loose and curt, as usual. As if nothing changed. "Feel like I haven't seen you in ages! Were you even going to stop in and see me?"

"I'm sorry. I wasn't avoiding you, I've just been busy."

"Judy Hawke works too hard, and the sun is hot," he japed with a dramatic throw of his hands in the air.

"You know me all too well," Hawke conceded.

The storyteller cringed at Hawke's flat delivery and blank expression, but shrugged it off and continued. "Anyway, I'm glad I caught you. You're just in time." A woman walked the corner and towards Hawke and Varric, as if on cue. Chunky golden trinkets jangled against her as she moved, matching eyes flickered under the unruly waves of her black hair, and her leathers smelled of sea salt. "The good Captain has returned to us!"

Hawke took a step back; Isabela's sudden presence was like a stone cast in still waters, stirring sleeping memories, a barrage of scenes from weeks and months ago playing all at once. But she could not pull the numb muscles in her face to show any shock. "It is good to see you again, Isabela."

"Good to be seen," said the pirate, with a smirk that stopped short. She saw Hawke's stony face and became uncertain of her reception. "It's been..."

"I'm sorry," Hawke  blurted out, returning to her path. "I have no time to catch up right now. You should go see Fenris when you can, though. I'm sure he'd be thrilled to see you again. Merrill, too."

"I'll do that, but I was hoping to..."

"I'm sorry, but I really must be off. I have a job to take care of." 

Varric and Isabela exchanged confused looks. Isabela shrugged, her sunny smile faded, but Varric jogged up to Hawke. "Hey, we could tag along and help. It'll be like old times."

"Old times? Varric, don't be ridiculous. I've just been doing other things, that's all. It's not like you need to see me every day."

He winced. Hawke did not stop to notice how deep her remark cut into him. She was down another set of stairs when he and Isabela caught up to her, each walking at her side.

"We don't have to do any grand regaling if you don't want to," said Isabela. "We could just come along and do the talky feely stuff later. What's the job?"

"Bandits. One gang got pushed out of their territory in the city, so now they're attacking travelers on the Coast. Nothing I can't handle." 

"You say it like they're going to just line up and go limp for you."

"Hawke," said Varric, "I know you're a one-woman army and all. Pretty sure I've described you as such at least twice in my book. But even a bunch of untrained goonies can gang up on one person. There's no harm in having some extra help, right?"

"Are you calling me helpless?" Hawke barked, a hot light snapping in her eyes as she glowered at her storytelling friend.

"Wh, what? No, never, you know that," Varric guffawed. "I mean, shit, Hawke, remember who you're talking to."

"It's us, Hawke," added Isabela, "we're the ones with nothing to do. You can even keep all the money."

"It's not the money," said Hawke, her angry expression extinguished as quickly as it ignited. She continued marching further and faster down the final staircase and past the gates. "You can keep it, if you insist on coming along. I just need to do something."

They walked past the last enclave of huddled little houses, bunched together in cold stone. They walked across the broad side of the cliff, where the sentinel Twin statues peaked out from the jagged channel. They walked until the solid grassy earth turned loose and grainy. No one spoke as the group advanced. Isabela heard the shuffle of sand under her boots and huffed in salty sea air. Then she looked ahead as Hawke marched further away, a cold space of bitter chilled air between them. The tumbles of waves beneath and the happy lapping of her dog was all that disrupted the awkward silence.

"Did you and Hawke get in a fight, too?" she asked Varric in a hushed voice. "She seems even worse than when I left."

"A fight?" Varric shook his head, as if the words his friend spoke were incomprehensible. "No, no, nothing like that. Hawke's just been busy. You know how she is."

"You said you haven't seen her in a while. Has she not been leaving the house?"

"She has. I've been stopping by the estate a lot, to check up on her. But then Bohdan tells me she's sleeping or she's out."

"Out?"

"Odd jobs, I guess. Things she doesn't need any help with."

"And you don't find that strange?"

Varric paused; the sight of him without a quick and clever answer on his tongue made Isabela shudder. He looked out as Hawke's frame faded in the distance, but even the small image of her was sharp and stiff. "Of course I do," he said, defeated. "Hawke's always been kind of private, but this is different. I'm at a loss. I keep hoping she'll come into the Hanged Man with a long list of tasks, and things will be back to the way they used to be before she was Champion. How am I supposed to know what's wrong if she doesn't tell me? I mean, shit, did you see that cold shoulder? She doesn't even want us here."

"I'm sure the two of us could think of something. And we should figure it out soon, or she'll do something stupid and get herself hurt."

"Hurt? Captain, I know you two had a bit of a falling out, but come on, it's Hawke! She'd never do something reckless, she always has a plan."

"Varric, she's charging blind into a bandit's nest with her dog as her only backup."

"Gallant is pretty good backup, to be fair. One time he..." Isabela glared at him. "Okay, I get it, all right? Let's go catch up to her before she gets skewered." 

The two rogues hustled up the sandy road until Hawke's small silhouette grew into her tall build. When they reached her, she was still. A gnarling, crunching sound overpowered the gentle tussles of the ocean. They came closer and saw Hawke's expression was blank, dry straight mouth and a wide glazed stare. They looked ahead and saw broken wagons; strips of wood in the road and wheels hung on rocks. Blood splattered the sand. Cold, limp bodies and discarded limbs were flopped over the carriages. A hunched figure was in the middle, with swollen purple veins and barbed spikes that crept from under a tattered robe to engorge the vaguely human form.

"It is not enough," it said in a gurgled voice as it turned, revealing a warped face with bubbling purple flesh, veins wrapped over one eye and half the mouth. "They could not even bring me one city. Not one. I'm so hungry, only a city of people will do. I'll take them. Take them all..."

"See, Captain?" said Varric, struggling to maintain a smirk and a light tone through his shivering. "You were worried over nothing. The horrible abomination took care of the bandits for us."

"Bastards," Hawke sneered, "bastards, all of them."

"Don't worry, Judy," said Varric as he readied his crossbow. "We've got you covered."

"I need more," the abomination mumbled, creeping towards Hawke and her companions with dark flames bursting along his curled fingertips. "Much more."

"So be it," Hawke declared, the glint of her unsheathed sword slicing through the dark of night. "There's nothing left to do but take it down. If every crook is so willing to turn into monsters just to satisfy their hunger, I have no problem cutting them all down."

Varric shot a few bolts in the abomination's shoulder, which slowed its steady creeping. Hawke charged, but Isabela was faster. The raider sidestepped past the ring of fire that quickly encircled the creature, keeping the Champion at bay. With a laugh, she circled back, hopped over fire, and dove in behind the creature. Two daggers flashed before they were driven deep into its bubbling back. As it flailed about trying to shake her off, Gallant the mabari galloped unnoticed and chomped its ankle. The abomination howled as it clawed at Isabela and chucked her across the shoreline, then kicked the dog with a violent jerk.

Isabela tumbled across the sand and stopped at Hawke's feet. "Ugh, tough bastard," she groaned as Hawke lifted her up by the hand. "Actually got stuck in there. Only managed to yank out one of my daggers. Other one's still in its back."

"Stay back," Hawke said.

"But I need that dagger back..."

Once Isabela was on her feet, she was already moving ahead. "Varric," Hawke called, "hold your fire. Get back."

"But Hawke..."

"I said get back."

The dwarf did as she asked and pedaled back. When he was at Isabela's side, he looked at her, face blank. The mabari went with them, whining, as if able to understand what his master wanted.    

  Snapping bolts off its body, the abomination glared at Hawke as she approached. "Perhaps you will sate my appetite. For a little while."

As she charged towards the creature, its flames rose up stronger, crackling with purple sparks. It surrounded the abomination and consumed its form, searing over sand, burning blades of grass, until it cleared an upward path in the evening sky with swirls of purple-hued fire.

Hawke stood at the end, raised her sword, and pressed the blade flat against her face. She closed her eyes and bluish white waves emanated from her body, streaming through the steel. An ember fell from the rising ring and dropped onto the foot of her armor, but it was quickly swallowed by the light. The waves of light surged and flooded from her body, washed over the abomination and his fiery barrier. The ring fizzled out, extinguished by the power radiating from the Champion.

The abomination moaned as the waves licked at its flesh and cleansed its power. The shoreline was cleared of demonic power. The monster fumbled in the sand, unable to cast another spell.

"But I want more!" the creature cried with a clumsy charge of thrashing limbs. "I'm so hungry!"

Hawke plunged her sword straight in, and the blade ran deep into the creature's chest. It hollered, ooze dripping from every twisted vein. The abomination reached for the blade and tried to pull it out of its gut, while Hawke was still pushing it in. Steel sliced its hands and feet shuffled in the sand as it tried to anchor itself and gather strength.

She countered its roars and resistance with a visceral grunt and a twist of her sword. The creature cried out and purple gunk spewed, but time had passed, and her lyrium-fused blockage began to fade. She saw dark embers poke out from underneath its skin, as if its whole body were one monstrous lantern and the fuse inside was being relit. Sparks flicked against the shine of the blade.

"You are not enough," the abomination gurgled.

A long trail of sweat ran down Hawke's cheek. Her breath was stolen by the cold night wind, ripping through her chest and hair. She grasped her sword handle and pulled again, but it was jammed deep within purple bile and rotted flesh. In a moment of cold clarity, she realized she was under-armored, her backup was confused, and she had exposed herself to her enemy.

"So hungry,"

"Hawke!" Isabela's voice came in from behind. "Hold on!"

With grit teeth, the Champion lifted one leg, pressed it against the abomination, and used the leverage to yank out her sword. The creature wheezed upon release. Budding fires seared along its arms, but Hawke swung the blade across its shoulders. The new flames went out, and the abomination thudded against the sandy ground.

"Are you all right?" Footsteps and voices were behind her, distant and muffled. A buzz veered inside Hawke's head, and she could not tell if Varric and Isabela were coming or going. The ocean waves receded, their crashes against the shore muted. The landscape around her--every cliff, every grain, the moonlit horizon--melted into night. A canvas once detailed in evening glow, now smeared with black. There was only her and the abomination, and its form began to shake, as if the ground would soon open up and swallow them.

"Hungry," it whimpered with a spittle of blood.

While the earth underneath her was still solid, Hawke leapt on top of the creature and swung her sword, again and again. She made broad sweeps against mangled, demon-touched flesh. Blood and gunk splattered with every stroke.

"Hey, Judy," Varric's voice echoed, jumpy and distant, "you, you can stop now."

"I told you there was something wrong," said Isabela. "but I didn't think... shit."

With the possession broken, the body began to crumble. Hawke kept swinging until there was nothing but ash, blown away by the wind.      


	6. We Are the Same

Knight-Commander Meredith had her back towards the entrance of her office, armored hands locked tight against the small of it. When Hawke stepped into the room, she was met with her unwavering steel spine.

"Have a seat, Champion," she said, motionless. Her voice was stiff; laced with an anxiety-inducing chill, like winter air ready to lash and howl at any given moment. "Thank you for coming so promptly," she said as she heard the chair slide against the tile.

"Of course," said Hawke. "Forgive me, I would have come sooner, but..."

"Worry not," the templar answered in a snap, taking the breath from Hawke's mouth. "Despite rumors, you do not work for me. You are not obligated to answer whenever I call. But I knew you'd come, because you wish to serve Kirkwall."

"I do," Hawke replied, quick and with a tensed posture, back straight and hands clasped on her lap, as though she were under inspection from invisible eyes.

"And you know the best way to do that is to cooperate with me. We both wish to protect this city and we're the only ones capable of doing so. We have endured the worst it has thrown at us, and know it will take hard work to undo it. We want the same thing."

"Of course. This is a matter of safety, then?"

"Safety and pride." The Knight-Commander turned. Her bright blue eyes cut through the dreary dim of her office, banishing the sight of cluttered towers of paperwork. Her glacial gaze compelled Hawke to look only at her, and wipe clean all lingering distractions. "This matter is a shameful one. The people would be in a panic if word got out, and time is of the essence. Several of my templars left Kirkwall in pursuit of an apostate, and they have not returned."

"This is very serious," said Hawke, suppressing her body's urge to shrug. Serious it was, but not as critical as she feared. The Knight Commander was far too busy and too important to ask favors, especially involving the duty templars were supposed to do on their own. "If I may ask, how long does it usually take your templars to track down an apostate?" Again she fought temptation, as if she didn't already know. If the mage was careful, and with the right people protecting them, they could have anywhere between one and nineteen years.

"You think I am overreacting," Meredith scoffed, picking up on Hawke's uncertainty like bones buried in the earth.  "That they have simply not returned from their task? No, it is far more dire than that."

Hawke winced in shame. "Of course. My apologies."

"Before I became Knight Commander," she continued, "a mage broke out of the Circle and was never caught. For years, I've sought to find her and correct the mistake of my predecessors. She appears every few years, attempting to 'free' other mages, which leads me to believe she never leaves the Free Marches. To toy with me, perhaps, to be so close yet still evade me."     

The Knight Commander worked herself into a barely contained fit with every word. Her finely arched brows made dramatic slants, the wrinkles around her mouth and eyes twitched, the ice of her eyes turning to a boil.

"Knight Commander," Hawke said in the most soothing voice she could muster, "I'm certain your templars are all right. Surely your own soldiers will not be defeated so easily by a single mage."

The Champion's calm settled Meredith, though steam still huffed from her flared nostrils. "I am glad you think so highly of those in my command, and I do not yet fear for their lives. But this apostate is not to be trifled with. She has obviously lured my soldiers into unknown territory, past the borders of this city so I could not ask the Guard, even if I wanted their assistance. It's likely she's amassed followers over the years, and I have reason to believe she is a blood mage."

Hawke sighed; she was sure to keep her expression soft and sympathetic, but her insides were rattling. In recent years, the Knight Commander tended to assume every apostate dangling out of her iron grasp had to be dabbling in the forbidden arts. Not that it mattered; mages always found a way to kill and destroy in horrible ways. _They will always be trouble_ , she remembered telling Gamlen when he lashed at her on the night of Leandra's death. When her uncle told her she might have saved her mother if she were faster or stronger, that was her answer. As if that made it better, as if it eased her pain, to shift the blame to another just once.

She balled her fists tight in her lap and nodded, in hopes Meredith would not see her discomfort. "What do you need me to do?"

"She was first seen on the outskirts. When pursued, she headed towards the Planasene Forest. I've heard nothing of my people since they ventured there, and I cannot afford to send in more after them. But if she's reached there, she will be even more difficult to track."

"So I am to be it, then? Rescue the templars, then assist them in capturing this apostate?"

"I don't want her captured, I want her dead. I want her existence wiped of the face of Thedas. If we are all fortunate, you will find my people and give them the edge they need to finish her before she can get lost in the forest, and you can all return safely. And you have... associates, do you not?" The last words fumbled in the Knight-Commander's mouth, thin lips in a frosted, fleshy knot. "You are a very capable fighter, I've seen it myself, but fighting outside city gates has dangers different from fighting within. I would not recommend going alone."

"Understood. Is there anything you can tell me about this mage that could be of assistance?"

"Her name is Una. She was an accomplished enchanter before her escape. Showed no contempt for the Circle before, but perhaps that was her intent, to lie in wait for the perfect moment. Perhaps too eager to learn, and to please, she had us all fooled. By now, she's middle-aged, though templars that have chased her before described her as a young woman, fitting the description of the mage who escaped years ago. More proof that she is a blood mage."

"You think she's using blood magic to keep herself young? Is that even possible?"

"I see no other explanation. Perhaps she can even extend her life with it. Perhaps there is no limit to her perversions. All the more reason she must be slain. You know the dangers of magic, unrestrained and unchecked for so long, as well as I do."

Before the Champion could respond, Meredith closed the distance between the two, fixing herself at the edge of her desk. Hawke had to look up to face her. It was a strenuous compulsion; the weight of the Knight-Commander's stare pushed her into her seat, and to look up at her eyes made her cringe, like staring into the sun through bitter winter haze. "And you're still so young. Life has been too cruel to you, as it was to me."

"I... am not that young, Knight Commander. I'll be twenty nine, come Cloureach."

"That's still plenty young. Do you know why I'm so fond of you, Hawke? Why I would come to you first with such a vital and personal matter, despite the fact that you're a young freelancer, not even born of the Free Marches?" She did not wait for an answer. "You're calm. Collected. Poised. When the qunari attacked and everyone else panicked, you remained in control. You assessed the situation and you did what needed to be done."

"I'm honored to receive such praise, Knight-Commander, but I'm no strategist. All I did was fight back. Anyone could have done what I did."

"And yet no one did. Choosing not to act, to give into fear, is an action of itself. You alone understood that. Even the Arishok was hot-blooded and hasty, assuming everyone would cower before him. That's why you were able to defeat him so easily."

Hawke's scars ached at the mention of the battle of their creation. The Knight Commander's words were ice and salt running along their deep and bloodied cracks. She grabbed the arms of her chair to constrain her pained shudders. Perhaps the fight looked like an easy win from onlookers, but she still carried its toll on the inside, where none would ever see. "Thank you, Knight-Commander. I just did what I had to. To protect Kirkwall."

"Exactly my point. Above all else, I need my people back. Kirkwall needs its templars now more than ever. I cannot even be certain Una is the cause or if she can be caught. If you can rescue the templars, you will be rewarded handsomely. But, Champion, if you should catch the apostate, or whatever is trapping my templars, I would be in your debt. I promise you, there is no greater reward in this city than my favor."

"...I understand."

With a faint semblance of a smile, the Knight Commander turned. "My assistant Elsa is down the hall," she said as she assumed her old position, facing away. "She can give you more information, should you require it."

Hawke got up and headed for the door. She had one foot in the archway before a sharp, "Oh and Champion," tugged at her heels. "Good luck. May the Maker turn his gaze on you, during these dark days."

 


	7. Lines of Communication

"No way," Varric exclaimed with a slap on the tavern table. "I don't believe it!"

"Afraid so," said Fenris with a smug smirk and cocky laugh. He slid a single card on the surface, so the dwarf could see the drawing on it. "See? Angel of Death. I win."

"No, I mean, I don't believe Isabela taught you to cheat at this bloody game and you're actually doing it."

"Hey now," Isabela came in from the sidelines with a playful shove to Varric's shoulder. "I did no such thing!"

The dwarf storyteller made a theatrical gasp. "Don't tell me the infamous Captain Isabela has gone straight!"

She giggled. "Didn't say that, either." 

"Donnic taught me," said Fenris.

"You mean he told you how to 'play fair', which is no fun. I'd have beaten you ten times over by now, but you'd be having a much better time."

"But I am having a good time," he answered, his smirk straightening to a more sincere smile. "I am... pleased that you came back."

"Aww, you softie."

"Besides, I never said Donnic didn't teach me any tricks."

"Oh, really now? Added a few moves to his repertoire, has he? I'm sure Aveline is pleased."

The Guard Captain, sitting at the same table but with a measured distance, groaned. "I'm right here, you realize."

"And not playing these fun new games with your new husband?" said Isabela. "or did you two exhaust yourselves during the honeymoon?"

"That's none of your business, and since he's not here, I'll defend his honor on his behalf. He plays fair and he does not cheat, in whatever context or capacity you can think of."

"All right, all right, you don't need to protest so fervently. But I'm telling you, playing fair only works when others do the same. And they never do."

Aveline's ginger brow slanted. "Are we talking about Wicked Grace or something else?"

"Whatever you want it to be, big girl. Varric, deal me in. I'll teach the two of you how this game is really played."

The Guard Captain watched the raider scoot across the bench and shuffled the cards, as she was often found doing in this tavern before. She watched her clever hands flip through them, not a single misstep in her method. She watched Fenris and Varric smile and laugh at her like they had before she left. As if she never left at all. "So that's it, then? We're just going to act like everything is the same?"

The three players exchanged confused glances. "As opposed to what?" asked Varric.

"Isabela disappears without a word, is gone for three months, then she comes back, and you all act as though she never left. That doesn't strike you as troubling?"

Varric shrugged. "Pirates aren't really the sort to stay in one place, or on land, for long. It's kind of counterproductive."

"It's not as though we did not miss her," said Fenris, "but if she wanted to come back, she would. And she did. So here we all are."

"You left for your honeymoon, I left to... explore outside business ventures," said Isabela. "We both needed time out of Kirkwall and we both came back when we felt like it. Same difference."

"It is absolutely not the same. Everyone knew where I was going, for how long, and when I'd be back. You ran off without so much as a note. For all any of us knew, you were never coming back."

"I had been meaning to leave, and the time seemed right, so I went with it. Excuse me for not being tethered to the Keep like you are."

"If by 'tethered' you mean 'bound by responsibilities', then yes, and I'll take that as a compliment. It's not a bad thing to belong."

"Uh huh," Isabela's grin faded into a twitch of tense muscles, squirming through her tucked lips and crunched nose. "I stayed for your wedding, isn't that enough for you?"

"Am I supposed to believe this has nothing to do with that fight you and Hawke had?"

Isabela rolled her eyes and dealt her hand. "Believe it or not, Hawke does not influence my every decision. Now can I play a simple game with my friends, or did you outlaw fun while I was gone?"

Aveline groaned, a rebuttal forming on her thin lips, but Varric interrupted, "Hey, hey now, let her be, Aveline. She just got here. Bad enough her first night back was... rough."

"What is that supposed to mean?" asked the Guard Captain.

The swing of the tavern door stopped their talks and compelled their heads to turn. They saw Hawke enter before she saw them. She was in her black tunic and leather boots, hair in an unkempt bun. She lifted her gaze towards her companions and her bagged eyes popped. "Oh," she said, voice low and soft. "I was not expecting to see you all here. Am I interrupting?"

"Hawke!" Varric exclaimed, bouncing in his seat. "No, of course not. Come on, have a seat, let me buy you a drink."

"You're sweet to offer," she said as she came to their table and sat with the group. "Not today, though."

"Aww, it's never today. You've never let me buy you so much as a bowl of mystery stew."

"Ah, yes, well, the food here is not... without its charm, but I prefer what they serve at the Rose."

"You eat at the Blooming Rose?" said Aveline.

"They serve food at the Rose?" said Varric.

"Yes and yes," answered Hawke. "You know, a lot of the workers there specialize in conversation. Companionship is what you pay for, that can mean a lot of things. And you can learn a lot if you're willing to listen."

"So you pay them to chat you up? What kinds of things do you learn?"

"Of course I pay, they're on the clock. They have families, mouths to feed. I ask about things going on around Kirkwall, mostly. Sometimes that leads to new work for me, or some problem I can help with. They hear things I can't. Other times, just friendly talks. Did you know Jethan has a sister? She's the cutest and he loves her dearly..."

"Classic Judy," the storyteller chuckled.       

"It's good to see you again, Hawke," said Fenris. His voice was small and unsure, big sea green eyes wading under the shade of his snowy bangs.

"And you as well, Fenris. Have you been eating enough? How is your training going? Is everything all right?"

"I am perfectly fine," he answered, forcing a chuckle. "You need not worry about me. It's been a while since last we talked, though... I assumed you had your reasons."

"I did, but I am glad to see you." 

"As am I. I... like the way you're wearing your hair."

"Oh...?" Hawke tilted her head, unsure, and shifted one hand over the back of her head. She felt the pin that kept it all together; a bundle of thick, dark brown hair, with a thread or two of premature silver lost somewhere in the loop. "Oh, my hair. Yes, I suppose I changed it and didn't really notice. It was just... everywhere."

"It looks lovely."

"You're too kind, it's really nothing."

"I could cut it for you again," said Isabela with a wink. "Funny how a woman who lugs around a giant blade, cutting down creatures twice her size, is all thumbs with a pair of scissors."

Hawke laughed, a weak but earnest little pitter from her mouth. "I suppose my talents had to balance out somehow. Besides, Isabela, you work wonders. I was just growing it out, waiting for you to come back."

"I could do it right here and now if you really want. I'll need something to distract me while I beat Varric and Fenris out of every last coin they have. And hair would still be the cleanest thing to hit these floors."

"Oh, no, not today, I'm too busy."

The raider pouted. "You always say that."

"It's always true."

"But you're right here, with us. Even Aveline is taking a break!"

"I'm on patrol," Aveline inserted with stiff lip. "The merchants were complaining about noise, taking from their business."

"Well, as close to a break as Aveline gets, anyway."

The Guard Captain huffed and focused on the Champion. "I suspect you came here for a reason too, Hawke."

She nodded. "I did. I was expecting to only find Varric, but since you're all here, I'll let you know I have a job. A rather big one."

"This wouldn't be about those missing templars, would it?" said Varric, his voice reduced to a tactful murmur.         

Hawke opened her mouth to gasp, but swallowed it before it surfaced and kept her voice low. "How could you know that already?"

"The Knight Commander doesn't have things under as tight a lid as she thinks, and the templars are still people who talk when they're scared. That's the gamble you make drinking with templars. Their stories are either hilarious or horrifying."

"I see. Well, then, I need not waste any more words or more of anyone's time."

"Hawke, come on, you're not..."

"I'm gathering supplies. I'll be heading west--towards the Planasene--two days from now, at sunup. If I'm fortunate, I'll find my target before she flees into the forest, but I can't count on that, so I want to be ready. I know it's short notice, but time is of the essence. I suspect we may be gone as long as a week, and it will be dangerous. If you decide to come, let me know as soon as possible, though I understand..."

"I will go with you," Fenris's answer was swift and stern.

"So we'll be roughing it, huh?" said Varric, his voice flat. "Joy of joys. Well, I can always wear my old boots for this one."

"It's been a while, hasn't it?" said Isabela. "I'll tag along, too. I already feel all nostalgic. Plus the coin. Coin is good."

"This matter has been deemed outside of Kirkwall Guard jurisdiction," said Aveline, "so... looks like I'll have another 'special investigation' to mark down."

"Everyone, please. There's no need to make a decision right now," Hawke insisted. "Give it some thought. As I said, it will be a long and arduous trip."

"So like an extended version of what you usually drag us along for?" said Isabela.

"I could stand to get out Kirkwall for a while," said Fenris. "And if you need help in this, I will gladly do so."

"I appreciate it, truly," said Hawke, "but I can't imagine any of you are eager to do jobs for the Knight Commander, rescuing her templars."

"That doesn't matter," said Aveline. "Templars or not, they're still men and women in danger. They don't deserve to get lost and die in some forest because their boss gives them stupid orders so they can earn pay."

"There's also what they're chasing," said Fenris grimly. "If a single mage is wandering around the Free Marches, ensnaring all who stumble upon them, they should be stopped."

"That and the Knight Commander will owe you big time," said Isabela. "Something this embarrassing for her would surely mean a big reward, no?"

"All valid points," said Hawke. "That settles it, I suppose."

"What about Anders and Merrill?" asked Varric. "Have you asked them yet?"

Hawke's tiny smile dissipated as she turned her gaze to the table, bangs feathered over her eyes, covering her embarrassment. "I have not. I don't think it's wise to bring along two apostates to rescue templars, on the hunt for another apostate. Like going to put out a fire, but bringing more tinder."

The dwarf shrugged. "Well, yeah, when you put it like that. But it's either templars out there or templars in here. They're well aware they can't escape them, they can only avoid them. At least out in the woods they can make themselves scarce when we find them. And when we do, those templars probably won't be in much condition to be picky."

"I suppose that's true," Hawke sighed.

"Besides, I think it would do them both some good to get out of Kirkwall for a while. Blondie has been stir-crazy, and Daisy is spending more and more time inside. I know you've never been the best of friends with either, Hawke, but think of it as a favor to me."

"You know I could never refuse you, Varric," she said, laughing in her defeat. "Very well. But do you think you could go ask Anders? I'm... too busy to go all the way into Darktown today."

"Sure thing. I can ask Merrill, too, if you're, ah, not ready to talk to her."

"No... no, it's fine. I've been meaning to clear the air with her, and if she's coming along, it should be sooner rather than later. I can go see her now, while I'm in he area, before I double-back to Hightown and ask Sebastian."

"Nah, leave him."

"Oh, Varric. Why don't you like him? He likes you."

"That's just it, he likes everyone!  He's just so... so bloody nice all the time. And he's way too excited about helping, and it's always just honesty and integrity. Makes my stomach curl."

"You know, Varric, those are all qualities I like to think I have."

"What?" Varric guffawed, square jaw hanging from its hinges. "You can't really think... come on, you're nothing like him. Yeah, your nice and honest, but... it comes from a place, you know? You work so hard, do so much for others, and you never expect anything in return. Shit, you have every reason not to be kind, that's the clincher. With Choir Boy, it's so fake. He doesn't do anything with it."

Hawke shook her head. "He does need to learn that kindness is not enough. I wish we lived in a world where it was... and with his potential, his position... still, he is trying. And I wish you would try to treat him better. Could you do that, at least for this trip? Think of it as a favor to me."

"There she goes, turning the tables on me... and Maker knows I can't say no to you and those big brown eyes. Okay, Judy, I'll try--for you--but once we get back, all bets are off."

"Doesn't Sebastian know how to hunt and track and such?" said Isabela. "That's a thing nobles like to do, right? Go into a reserved area of the wilderness and make a game out of survival?"

"What are you getting at?"

"I'm just saying if he has some experience, he should come. My expertise is on the sea, not in forests, and I doubt you have much experience in such terrain, City Mouse."

"Oh, a crack at my height?" the storyteller chortled. "Real classy, Captain. You're better than that."

"I think it was an excellent observation," said Hawke. "Thank you, Isabela."

The raider smiled. "If nothing else, Hawke, you should at least tell him so he can see you off. He was so upset last time you left Kirkwall without a goodbye."

The Champion cocked her head. Eyes wandered for a moment, searching for an answer, but found nothing. "I'm sorry? I'm afraid I don't know what you mean. I've scarcely left Kirkwall the past few years."

"Oh come on, you know, that thing. It's half the reason we all met."

"The Deep Roads expedition? But Sebastian and I had just met at that time. Why would he care about saying goodbye?"

"Is this really new to you? Fenris, did we never tell her?"

"I never thought to," said Fenris. "I assumed he might have told Hawke as such, if he wanted it known."

"Oh. Guess he didn't. Oops. It's the silliest thing, really. Remember how you had us watch over Bethany while you were gone? He came poking around, wondering where you had gone."

"I think he initially assumed, with the Blight over, you used the reward money to go back to Ferelden," added Fenris. "He seemed sad that you were gone."

"He looked like a lost puppy. A very shiny puppy."

"I never knew this," said Hawke. "We had spoken... maybe twice?"

"He was obviously smitten with you," Isabela said matter-of-factly. "His gallant rescuer in shining armor, and all that rot. Run to him, Hawke! Go the Chantry now and ravish him in front of all the prudish sisters!"

Her bottom lip dropped, dark eyes emerged from their hiding shade of her bangs, wide with shock. "Wha, what?"

"Andraste's hairy calves!" Varric choked up his ale. "I'm trying to drink here!"

"Can you have one conversation without talk of ravishing someone?" grunted Aveline.

"Oh, lighten up, it was a joke."

"It wasn't funny."

"It was kind of funny," Fenris ducked his head to hide the growing smile, but he couldn't cover his snickering.

Varric and Aveline continued to groan while Fenris and Isabela laughed, but Hawke was silent. Her eyes remained wide, her whole body stiff. In an stiff jerking motion, she lifted herself off the bench and walked back the way she came.

"Oh, Hawke, no," said Isabela. "I didn't mean anything by it. I just wanted to... don't go. I'm sorry."

"No, it's fine," she answered. "I've just been here too long. I have to leave."

"But you just got here!" the storyteller said with outreached arm. "You don't have to leave right the second, do you? Come on, play a round with us, stay a while."

The others turned and faced towards the Champion with urging faces to match Varric's plea, but Hawke did not turn to see them. "Sorry, I really must go," she said as she walked out the door, never hearing the worried sighs behind her.

 


	8. A Day in the Fade

Chapter Eight: A Day in the Fade

 

"I cannot put you ahead of the fate of my people," Merrill said as she walked away from Hawke, and towards the demon. There was a skip in her breath, a shake in her voice, but she walked without pause, as if tugged by strings sewn into her joints.

The Fade reflected familiar halls, constructed by pieces of collective memory. The structure was sound in its likeness to their city-state, but the atmosphere was bloated with a wavering, wafting sensation, almost too thick to breathe. It was as if the Champion and her companions were walking through a living painting, loosely based off some random building in Kirkwall, by someone who watched them from afar. And with the artist still watching, somewhere.

The demon stood on hulking knuckles, sneering through a helm of horns and teeth. It towered over the mortals in his domain, a cold shadow looming. 

Hawke watched Merrill leave her side, and she readied her sword. The demon's shadow consumed the elf's small frame. "Merrill, you said you could handle demons," she said sternly. "If you give in to it, I'll be forced to bring you down."

"It is too late," declared a booming voice. It came from Anders's mouth, but his skin and words were strewn with a spirit. Glowing veins and eyes matched the ethereal echo of his words. It was Justice who spoke; always present, but seldom heard, unearthed from Anders's flesh by the presence of his own realm. "She is already under the demon's control, and must be defeated."

"Hawke..." Varric said, voice meager and worried, as he tugged at Hawke's sleeve. "We're not really going to hurt Daisy, are we? Hawke?"

She didn't answer right away. The demon cackled, bulky limbs twitched, its shadow stretched until it overcast the courtyard they stood in. Merrill was staring at her three former allies with eyes like fogged glass, her staff in hand.

"Hawke?" Varric said again.

"Varric, I need you and... Justice... to keep the demon off me while I incapacitate Merrill."

"But Hawke!"

"I won't kill her, I have good control, trust in that. I'll only stop Merrill from casting spells. Now, can you do this for me?"

"For a few seconds, sure."

"That's all I need." 

Hawke waited for the shuffle of her companions' feet before charging to the other side. Every movement the demon made had power surging through it, a whopping sound like cannonballs crashing. Hawke pushed away the sounds from her range, removed its massive presence from her mind, and focused on Merrill. As she ran towards her, she saw her tap her staff against the ground. A pattern of red light--a hex--flashed underneath Hawke's leading foot as her armor made contact with the ground. She felt the magic crawling under the cuffs of her boot, needling through her clothes and into her calf. The hex was hot against her skin, like a swarm of stinging insects burrowing into her blood. She groaned in pain, but kept running.

Merrill held up her staff horizontally with both hands, to block an incoming sword lunge that never came. Instead, Hawke placed the point of her sword parallel to the space between Merrill's eyes. By the sudden force of Hawke's shifting weight, a bluish white light spilled from her. It channeled through the blade, blinded Merrill and corked the magic flowing through her fingers. Merrill squinted and stumbled, as if bathing in sunlight after days of darkness.

Hawke uttered a solemn, "I'm sorry," before plunging the pommel of her sword into Merrill's tiny stomach. Seeing the mage, temporarily cut off from her own powers and coiling onto the ground in ache, she ran back to slice through the demon.     

 

***

 

As Hawke stood in front of the Alienage house, she remembered the seldom-stirred anger she felt that day, watching Merrill turn from her in the Fade. She remembered the doubt and frustration that twisted in tandem inside of her. Was she too soft, letting a mage--a maleficar, at that--live in Kirkwall while she turned a blind eye? Or was she too hard, denouncing the actions of this poor woman, living on her own, away from her clan and all she knew, just trying to reclaim lost history? History that humans took, in accordance with their faith? A faith that Hawke herself tried to follow?

Being a law-abiding, Maker-fearing woman in Kirkwall was much more difficult than Judith Hawke had hoped. 

 She remembered, when the ordeal in the Fade was done and she was back in the waking world, she saw Merrill unharmed. No blood or bruises, just her sleeping in Arianni's cot. Like it never happened.

"I couldn't really blame her," Hawke thought to herself. "It's not as though I ever put her before of my family. Nothing came before them. It was almost simpler, when I first came to Kirkwall. When I could not afford to do anything else."

She took a breath, straightened her back, and knocked on the door. "Merrill?" she said when there was no immediate answer. She waited, resisting the urge to let her heel turn and walk away, when the door creaked open. "Merrill, may I come in?" Still silence. She breathed in deeply, hoping the semblance of a plan would form as she collected air. When she exhaled, she gently pushed the door and made one step inside. "I'm coming in now, all right?" she projected into the dim wooden entrance as she made another step.

"It's fine," a little voice peeped from around the corner. It was flat and unenthused.

Hawke proceeded to make the full cross over from the Alienage to the interior. She locked her hands to her sides. She studied the trail of board patches and cracked lines on the floor before she turned the corner into the only other room, Merrill's bedroom. She lifted her gaze, though veered sharply once she caught sight of the base of the broken mirror. She focused on the Dalish mage, sitting on her bed with a mat of scattered old papers and arcane trinkets.

"Hello, Merrill," said Hawke. She perked up her voice and gave her a polite, twinkling wave of the hand. "Are you well? Have you been eating enough? I'm not interrupting anything, am I? I could..."

"What did you do with the Arulin'Holm?" said Merrill.

Hawke stumbled, the question throwing her off her mental tightrope walk. "I... beg pardon?"

"Before you pretend to be friendly like nothing's changed so you can ask whatever favor without guilt, answer me that one thing. Since you wouldn't let me have it, what did you end up doing with it?"

Hawke's forced smile and tweaked voice fell with a heavy sigh. "I gave it back to Merethari. I had no right to keep it. I never wanted it in the first place."

Merrill shrugged. "No, you just wanted to deny me of it. At least you understand it wasn't yours to keep." 

The question of why Merrill bothered to ask such a thing--months after Hawke disrupted her plans to restore the Eluvian--crept into her mind, crawled into her throat. Under different circumstances, in a different state, she might have allowed the question to slip through. But Hawke, as nosy and stubborn as she often was, had enough foresight to know such a question would lead to an argument. One that she had no right engaging in, and one she was too tired and too busy to bother with. So she forced it down.  

"I have a job," she said instead. "I don't think you'll like it, but Varric thought it might be good for you to get out of Kirkwall for a while. And I still want to include you, we all do. Plus the money is good."

"I don't know about that," she sighed, paying more attention to her notes than to the Champion. "I've been trying to find a way to fix the Eluvian without the Arulin'Holm, but no luck. I don't know how long it will take me... if there's even an answer to be had."

"Perhaps some time away would help, then. Clear your mind. And you still need money, you still need to eat."

Merrill shook her head, still looking every which way except to face Hawke. "Varric insisted on this, did he? Where are you all going?"

"To the outskirts. Templars have gone missing, and Knight Commander Meredith believes an apostate has captured them."

"Well, you were right," she snorted, "I don't like the sound of that. And let me guess, this apostate is also a blood mage."

"...Yes. The Knight Commander is convinced of this, anyway."

"Is it at least a human?"

"Yes."

Merrill began to twitch, bouncing on the balls of her feet, crinkling the corners of her notes. Finally, she stood from her bed, turned and looked straight into Hawke's glazed, dark eyes. "Does none of this bother you, Hawke? Going after mages like this? You've left me and Anders be, you protected your sister for years, so why this? I know that..." She flinched midway, tripping into the sensitive subject, seeing cold eyes staring back at her, but swallowed her anxiety and continued. "I know what happened with your mother, and I'm sorry... and I've apologized about what happened in the Fade, with Feynriel, but..."

"I only go after mages causing harm to the city," Hawke blurted out, squeezing fists at her sides. "As I go after anyone causing harm to the city. Otherwise, they're of no concern. Meredith doesn't hire me to intercept any random mage looking to escape. She doesn't know enough about the Underground, and I'm not a templar. Nor am I some lackey of hers, with no sense or will of my own. I know after what I did, I have no right to scorn or criticize, I am not so stupid as to think I am. But I'm not a templar. I am not like them."

"So... as long as me or Anders don't do anything to endanger the city, we're safe?"

"I can only promise that I will not harm you or turn you in directly. If the templars should ever find either of you, you'll only have yourselves to blame. I made that very clear to each of you from the start."      

"And what about Feynriel? Was he a danger to the city?"

"He was a danger to himself, so yes."

"That's a convenient answer."

"He had no training and no one to teach him. I could only afford to take care of my own family. Would you have taken him under your wing, would Anders have? Can you tell me, with absolute certainty, that the Dalish would have taken him in, or that the templars wouldn't still come and hurt them if they found out he was among them?"

Merrill backed away. "Fine," she conceded, "I'll come along. I suppose I could use the fresh air and... money."

"Very well," Hawke said plainly as she headed for the door, quick as she came, as planned. "Come to the crossroads at sunup, day after tomorrow."

Door creaking open, Hawke had her hand on the railing. Amplified by silence, every board in the house squeaked under the pressure of her presence.

"Wait," Merrill peeped as daylight spilled inside, just as Hawke was in the middle of her first step out. "I have one thing to ask of you, before I come along... a few days ago, I had... gotten lost, I ended up in the Chantry garden. I overheard Sebastian talking to Fenris. He... told him it was their duty to alert the templars of apostates. Of me. Fenris said if that's how he felt, Sebastian should talk to you about it. But I don't know if he ever--"

  "He never mentioned this to me, no." Her nails scratched against the decayed wood until her fingers came together in a fist. The Alienage opened at her feet, but she remained in the hall, her head tucked down. "I'm learning all sorts of things about Sebastian today."

Merrill cocked her head in cautious uncertainty, toes curling. Hawke's voice popped the bubble of awkward silence. "Let me ask you a question of my own". Her voice was cold, husky, and rigid; a steady rumble of words like thunder in the distance. "When you use these powers on people... do you feel them die?"

Merrill's gumdrop eyes sunk into her skull. "I... I'm sorry?"

"When I wield my blade, when people fight with swords and shields, daggers and spears, they don't just kill their opponent. They feel the life leaving the body in the handle of their weapons. The same cannot be said of bows and crossbows, throwing knives and bombs. To my understanding, that's also the case with... conventional magic. Is this true of blood magic, as well?"

The floorboards creaked under Merrill's feet as she twitched. She swallowed her fear, tried to match Hawke's proud stance with her lithe, slim-shouldered frame, and said, "Yes, I do. I always feel them when I use it. It flows when I control them, and it... goes cold when I kill them."

"And do you think that feeling helps you decide who deserves to die?"

"There... will always be mistakes," she replied, chewing her lip. "But I wouldn't use it if there was no need, and no danger."

"All right, then," she said, closing the door behind her.


	9. Only Fools

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note: from this point on, entries will be divided as before or after "All That Remains", and will be labeled as such. The exception being the very beginning, which was during.
> 
> As in, this story goes back and forth in time a lot, and that quest is at the center of everything going on. Hopefully that will keep things a bit clearer.

Chapter Nine: Only Fools

 

_Before All That Remains_

 

For Hawke, leaving the Fade was like falling in a dream, only to wake up the moment before impact. As the demon died, the living picture it had constructed was pulled apart. Every piece was discarded, every detail erased. Hawke's companions were plucked from the canvas, and she was alone, pulled down into darkness. The floor parted underneath her, and air whooshed over her head, whistling through her hair.

Her legs made an instinctive jerk as she dropped back into consciousness. The abyss disappeared, replaced by the inside of Arianni's house. Hawke flung herself upward, chest heaving, as she saw the details of the waking world settle before her. Merathari and Arianni were standing over her, Varric and Anders were getting up alongside her; the three of them had been lying on a mat of torn furs. Merrill was curled on the end of the bed across the hall, still sleeping.

"Your friend requires more rest," said Merathari, voice purposely distant and disapproving, as if she knew what had happened, or had just assumed the worst. The Keeper looked over her shoulder to eye Merrill one more time before letting herself out of the house.

 

When the business was done and all but Merrill had woken up, Hawke comforted Arianni as best she could. She assured the woman that her son, Feynriel, was far away, but finally safe. She thanked Hawke, and told her she would watch over Merrill until she got up. Hawke left with her remaining companions.

"Well, that was not what I was planning to do this morning," said Varric, stretching his stout arms. "Did I forget to mention dwarves don't normally go to the Fade?"

"That's why they can't be mages, I know," said Hawke. "Yet you were still able to enter with the rest of us. Are you all right?"

"I'm alive and my mind is still in my head, so that's good. What about you, Hawke? I know you have magic in your family, but..."

"This was my first time in the Fade, as well."

"Shit. If you don't mind my saying, you could've fooled me. How do you always manage to stay so calm?"

"I just think of what could happen if I lost control of the situation. It's easy to give into panic and fear, but nothing good can come of it. Especially true with magic." She turned to Anders, giving him an up and down to see his skin was clear of luminous cracks, his composure his own. "And you, Anders? Are you all right? What happened in there was..."

"Not something to be discussed out in the open," said Anders. He stepped further away from his two companions, the shades of the alienage's massive tree, the Vhenadahl, brushing against the sunken contours of his face. "I can only imagine what you must think of me now."

"It was nothing I didn't already know."

  Anders sneered, shook his head, and walked away. Varric called out for him, but he was already long gone.

"I'm sorry, Varric," said Hawke. "I couldn't bear to ask Fenris such a thing, Sebastian outright refused, I couldn't find Isabela, and I thought... it would be best to have people with firsthand experience in the Fade."

"Don't beat yourself up about it. You couldn't have known what would happen in there, and I sure as shit couldn't have known. And hey, we're all not dead, that Feynriel kid is safe. Everything worked out for the best, if not a little awkwardly."

"I suppose you're right."

"Hey, come on, it's a job well done! Why don't we head on over to the Hanged Man for a drink to celebrate?"

Hawke laughed lightly. "You would have suggested that even if we did not succeed."

"Alcohol is versatile like that."

The two walked out of the tree's stretched shade, and out of the alienage, but when they reached the first set of stairs that linked the gates to the rest of Lowtown, they found Sebastian standing beside it. His hands were neatly folded together, trying to take up as little space as possible. His eyes bounced about the stacks of apartments and decorations hanging from the winding Vhenadahl branches. When his sight landed on Hawke, he smiled.

"You've finished," he cheered. He hopped to his feet and threw himself halfway across the distance, almost going in to embrace Hawke before retracting his arms, thinking better of it. "And you're all right, thank the Maker."

"Oh please, Hawke has handled worse," chided Varric.

"Sebastian, did you wait out here for us?" said Hawke.

"I thought, perhaps, if something went wrong, I could at least find help."

Hawke raised her brow and Sebastian shrugged, both knowing the truth, that there was nothing he could have done in such a position. "I'm sorry," he blurted out. "I hope you understand why I couldn't go with you, bit it felt wrong to simply leave."

"Sebastian," Hawke said with a smug cross of her arms and a smirk. "Do you not know how to get back to Hightown?"

"I, ah, that is," a flush ran across Sebastian's warm bronze face as he rubbed the back of his neck. "I did wish to stay and wait for you, truly I did. But it also occurred to me that I've never gone this far into Lowtown without you. The sisters would never even let me go this far to collect donations. And this part of Kirkwall is so big and unorganized. How do you manage?"

"I did live here for a while," she laughed. "Why don't I walk you home?"

"I would appreciate that."

"Varric, I'll have to take a rain check on those drinks. Do you want to come along?"

"I'll pass," said Varric, his grumbled disdain thinly veiled in the gruff of his voice. "Already had a weird enough day. Don't care to make it more awkward by babysitting a grown man."

"Don't mind Varric, he's just being fussy. He gets this way sometimes."

They all walked up the stairs leading out of the alienage, then Varric made a sharp turn towards the Hanged Man, grumbling. The other two continued straight through the bustling bazaar.

"Are you all right, Hawke?" said Sebastian as he hovered behind her. "You're not hurt, are you? I can't begin to imagine what the Fade is like."

"I'm fine. And neither could I, before today. It's not something to speak of out in public, though. For now, suffice it to say it was unsettling."

"I assumed as much. I'm glad you're safe."

"That's sweet. Glad you're not still mad."

"I was never mad," he whined. "Merely concerned."

"You haven't been in this group of mine for long, so it's to be expected. In time you'll get used to it."

"Are you saying this is a common occurrence for you?"

"Not exactly, but there's no prettying this up. Kirkwall is a dangerous place, and I've made a living doing dangerous things. Be aware of that."

"I understand, Hawke."

"Says the man in stainless shining armor."

He put his hands on his heart, feigning a wounded ego, but chuckling all the way. "You are so very cruel, Hawke."    

"Not cruel, sensible. Come on, let's get you back to the Chantry."

She lead him through the stalls and stores. The air was bloated with the cries of merchants, along with the collective murmurs of every buyer and passersby. It stunk of their sweat. Sebastian kept bumping into people. "I'm sorry," he said as his shoulder slammed into someone else's. "Please excuse me," as it happened again.  

"Hey, come on," said Hawke, pulling him by the hand. "Stay close to me."

The crowd parted as the two wormed out of the bazaar. She led him through another flight of ruddy stone steps, into an enclave of apartments.

"See, over there, on the right," said Hawke as she pointed to one of the tightly-packed buildings, square and gated with rusted bars. "That's where my family and I first lived when we came here from Ferelden."

Sebastian could barely contain the soured frown upon his face, though he tried to tuck it away by chewing on his lip. "Oh, Hawke, I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," she said with a shove to his shoulder plate. "We were very fortunate, actually. Most refugees didn't have a place to live at all. My uncle took us in, and my sister and I worked. It's not much smaller than any home I've ever had in Ferelden. Although I miss the open spaces. Even Hightown is cramped for my tastes."

"You're not very fond of Kirkwall, are you?"

"I didn't say that. I just like open spaces. Surely there's something about Starkhaven you miss."

"That's true, there's plenty. It was bigger and more open, too, yet always full to bursting. Not wandering separately, but as though everyone was alive together. Except in the castle, it was more a hollow tomb, and I never liked that. I could easily run off and get lost in a crowd. Go dancing and drinking until the guards dragged me back in the wee hours of the morning."

"You were just trying to enjoy yourself," said Hawke, "Nothing wrong with that. Can't imagine being a prince is much fun."

"Being lonely doesn't justify my behavior. I was such a terror. Didn't have the decency to tell anyone where I was running off to. Then I'd gamble away my parents' money and get in fights with the children of the nobles."

"It sounds like you wanted to be found. See how long it would take for them to notice you were gone."

"That must've been part of it. Very astute of you, Hawke."

She shrugged. "I was the eldest child. I notice certain patterns. I tried to run away once or twice myself, but I ended up feeling guilty and turned around."  

They walked through another mass of people, filing through the stone archways, under tattered canopies that filtered the sunlight. Sebastian shuddered in the shuffling, as if being overpowered by a wave of seawater about to knock him clean off his feet. Hawke grabbed him by the wrist as tugged him along as she maneuvered through the crowd.

"My apologies again," he gasped once they walked into a space where he could breathe his own air again.

"And again, they're not necessary. Just hang onto me, we're nearly there."

One last set of stairs connected Lowtown to Hightown, wider and more massive than the others that came before. They curved inward with Kirkwall's rising slope, like a spiraling thread of stone, woven into the city-state. Only a few dispersed groups walked up and down with Hawke and Sebastian, giving them space to breathe.

"If have a rather personal question, if I may," said Sebastian.

"You may, although I might not answer."

"I don't want to impose on a private matter, but I'm curious as to why you chose to remain 'Hawke'. You have your namesake back, the Amell Estate, a place in Hightown, everything you're entitled to as a member of that family. Why do you not refer to yourself as such? As Lady Amell?"

Hawke did not answer right away. She slowed her steps, lowered her head in contemplation. "A fair question. It's a curious thing, after all. To claim the birthright of one family, yet keep the name of another. But I've been Hawke all my life. I've never known another family. Even my mother dropped the name Amell is favor of my father's. It was her choice to do so."

"I'm not trying to condemn or criticize you, I'm only curious. I thought perhaps it meant you weren't happy in Hightown. Or not happy in Kirkwall at all. That maybe you still planned on going back to Ferelden one day."

"It's not that. My ties to the Amell family have helped me. Even just having family here helped me get this far, else I might have been shipped back to Ferelden. It's a privilege few else had. But I still worked hard to get this far. Still put my family through a lot. Often I would keep my full armor on, helmet too, and have Varric do all the talking, because people didn't want to hire Fereldens."

Sebastian winced. "I'm sorry, I had no idea it was that bad."

"I don't think I'll ever go back, but I don't want to lose myself, either. I want people in Lowtown and Darktown to know if a refugee can get this far, anyone can. And I'll help them, I'll help as many as I can. I'd rather ally myself with those still living, than prop myself up with dead relatives I'll never meet."

"I see you're not the sort to rest on your accomplishments," he said, pushing himself to catch up with her as they reached the top of the stairs, into Hightown. "I knew I was following you for a good reason."

"I didn't say it for flattery. I said it because it's my true intent."

"But that's just it. You're kind and you work hard, but you don't mix words or coddle. You're so... real."

Hawke flicked the loose strands of hair from the side of her forehead, distracting herself from the slight and unwelcomed fluster in her face. "Well, ah, thank you, Sebastian. It's been lovely getting to know you, as well." 

They walked through the market square, passed the walls of estates, and into the polished block of gardens and roaming sisters, where the Chantry was nestled.

"Thank you again," he said as they reached the Chantry door. "I know I wasn't of much help to you today, but I've enjoyed this time, with you and the others."

"I enjoy having you around, as well," Hawke paused, uncertain, but her lips twisted into a little smirk. "Although if I didn't know better, I'd say maybe you were just pretending to not know your way out of Lowtown. Just playing innocent and lost, to spend time alone with me."

"Now why would I do that?" he tipped his head slightly as he laughed, lips slanted, the crinkles on the corners of his eyes deepening. "You're a busy woman. What would I have to gain by taking up your precious time?"

"You tell me," she countered. "What does a priest have to gain being led around town by a well known bachelor such as me, hmm?"

"I'm a brother of the faith, not a walking corpse," he laughed. "I still enjoy contact with other people. We've done nothing wrong."

"Are you sure Elthina would agree with that?"

"She's already upset with me for everything. I doubt this will be the final straw. If anything, I was giving her needed space today."

Hawke groaned. "I know I deserve it, but must you be such a bloody tease?"

"What? Why do you think you deserve it?"

"Because I've been hard on you, pushing you, making you go to all these places you're not comfortable with. Saying... foolish things."

He stepped closer to her, smiling. "If I may be so bold, I know we haven't known each other that long, but I consider you a very good friend.  If we have moments to ourselves like this, just talking, I would be grateful. And I would take whatever chances we can get to do so."

"Then I... hope to continue being a good friend to you."

"I have no doubts."

"I should, um, let you get back to it, then," Hawke stuttered, a rare fumble in her normally low and steady voice. "But I'll be sure to let you know once something is up again. I--or I should say Kirkwall--could always use the extra help."

"And I am happy to offer assistance."

"And maybe, when the danger's passed, or even if there's no immediate crisis, you could tell me more about Starkhaven."

"I would like that. I shall see you soon, Hawke."

"See you, Sebastian."

She waited for the pounding thud of the massive doors shutting behind her, to turn around and walk back the way she came. She marched out of the Chantry area, shoulders stiff and face blank, like a toy soldier. She returned to her estate, pushed the door shut with her back, and kept herself in silence.

"Was he... was I... were we really just flirting?" She asked herself while she released the control she had, letting the blush bloomed in her face. "It ridiculous. He's a priest. Even if he were to listen to me and... no. No, no, princes marry princesses. He was just being nice. You haven't been with anyone since Lothering. You're so out of touch, you think small talk with a Chantry brother is flirting." Her shoulder blades rubbed against the door as she allowed her stance to fumble, and slipped onto the floor. She cupped her heated face in her hands as she fell down. "You're just a fool."

***

 

_After All That Remains_

 

She remembered that day, walking the same path from the alienage to the stairs to Hightown. Going into the Fade, fighting Merrill and the demon, walking Sebastian home. The memories echoed as she passed through every step and corner. Hawke sighed, reflecting on how her relationships with them have soured since then.

"Haven't spoken to Sebastian since that night," she thought to herself as she walked through Lowtown. The giant stairs came into view, marking her ever closer to her next destination. She stopped and shivered, the memory of the night she lost her mother like claws of ice brushing against her spine. Every time she walked up and down those steps played through before her, muddling together, like every imprint had a residual life of its own. Every casual walk, every hearty jog for training, the mad rush down with Gaspard to find the killer. All ghosts of her actions, playing together in front of her.

People navigated around her, soft shuffles on the dirt road. The gentle afternoon breezes died at her feet. Everything came to halt around her. "It wasn't his fault," she said to herself. "He was afraid. For himself, and for me. He was right to be. The only fault was Quentin's and mine, and I have to live with it."

With clenched fists to her side, she continued her walk, her movements stiff and rigid. "You can't just ignore him," she thought as she pressed on, marching towards the exit like a toy soldier. "You can't just push him out because of what happened."

"Serah? Excuse me, serah!" a little voiced peeped out of the usual grumbles and low-pitched chatter. Surprised, Hawke paused her vigilant march once more to seek out the source, but she found only the wandering heads of other adults.

"Serah?" the voice squeaked again. Hawke's ears perked and she looked downward, finding a small elven girl lost in a forest of long and busy legs. She waded through one empty corner, a small space to anchor her back when the crowds became too much. The girl had a large basket wrung around her wrist, overflowing with flowers. Hawke let out a small gasp once she got a good look at them. White petals with reddish orange bursting through the center, like an erupting fire searing through a patch of snow. The very sight of them brought flashes of Lothering to Hawke's mind. Fields flowing with grain, the clean and sharp scent of dew and pine in the thickest forest, the bundling warmth of huddled sleep in the old cabin, the clarion certainty of the Chantry bell. Everything wonderful and distant about her old home, spindling in the stem of every flower.

"Buy a flower, serah?" the elf girl cried to every passerby, waving one with her free hand. "For your family, for your sweetheart! Nothing says 'I love you' like flowers! Only two bits each!"

"Excuse me," said Hawke as she wormed her way through the crowd to get to the flower-girl. Her dark eyes widened, almost glowed, as she drew nearer, beholding the fluffy texture of the petals. "Are those Andraste's Graces?"

"I... oh, Champion!" the flower-girl blurted out through dropped jaw. The tips of her long ears went red with shock. "I can't believe it!"

"Hush now," Hawke said in a whisper, putting one finger to her lips. "No need to make a fuss over me, but yes, I am the Champion. I didn't think those flowers even grew in the Free Marches. I've never seen them, not since I left Ferelden."

"They're very rare, yes, but my mum grows them special. I want to help her so she can keep growing them, but they won't let me sell in the Market Square."

"Hmm, that's not right at all."

"Oh, but please, Champion, you must take one!" she said as she raised one up to her. "A free one, just for you. Mum will understand, after all you've done."

"Please don't treat me special. Although two coppers hardly seems fair to you. Surely it costs more to grow them."

The flower-girl's cheerful expression drooped. "I, I don't know, I think so. But mum says people in Lowtown don't have much money to spend on flowers, even nice ones, and we can't sell them in Hightown. But maybe if people see you with one, they'll want to buy!"

"Oh, that's good thinking. I was on my way to the Chantry. Flowers this nice should be out for all to see. Surely they'll get attention there."

"Will they let you put them there?"

"I have my ways. Besides, they're Andraste's Grace, after all, how could they not?"

"Wow, you're as clever and you are kind, just like mum said!"

"Oh. Why, thank you. I'll take a dozen. Here..." Hawke bent down close to the flower-girl. As she picked the dozen from her basket, Hawke slipped a sovereign in her pocket. "Be sure to keep to streets with Guards, and bring it to your mother as soon as you can."

"I...?" The flower-girl felt the inside of her pocket, lined a finger around the distinct dents that marked a gold piece. "Oh, Champion, I can't," she whimpered softly. "There's not even a silver's worth of flowers in my whole basket."

"Call it an investment. I'll see to it that your mother gets her own stall in Hightown. For now, remember what I said, all right?"

"Don't worry," she said with an assuring smile and nod. "I'm clever, too."

"I have no doubt."

 

Hawke continued out of Lowtown, up the stairs, and into Hightown, her eyes fixed on her bouquet the whole time. "These belong in the Chantry," she thought. "They're too nice just to keep in my house, where no one will see them." She spotted familiar flow of bushes along the floor of her trail, marking her ever closer to her destination. "And now this is incentive. You have to go. You must. Not like there was a choice, you're leaving day after tomorrow, after all. Like Isabela said, he has tracking skills, it's wise to at least ask. If he even wants to come. And besides, he..."

Her boot clacked on a familiar block, with a memorable scratch. She tore her gaze from the billowy comfort of her flowers and looked up at the Chantry tower. The old Tevinter statues that adorned the complex stood in brazen gold, defying the gentle winds and subtle glow of the dying afternoon. Each had weapons raised, as if to pierce the soft blue sky, or perhaps to make a heavy swipe at the ongoing tide of vines at their gilded feet. Wispy clouds parted against the might of each stacked column. Only the banners of the Andrastian sun, hung on the walls, marked any outward presence of the White Divine's influence. They were simple cloths, tacked onto an otherwise affronting and extravagant architecture. It was as if the entire complex were reaching out to challenge whatever great being resided in the sky.

Hawke shuddered and looked back down to her flowers for courage. Breathing in their crisp, woody smell, she remembered the low and rounded structure of the Chantry buildings back in Ferelden. Or at least the humble chapels in the villages she lived in throughout her life. At most, each would have a single statue of Andraste, as opposed to these massive monuments to dead magisters. And she knew everyone who dwelled within, be it joining her hand or leading it themselves. Unlike this place, where she only knew one.

"It's not like you don't want to see him again," she told herself as she faced the tower and continued onward.

 

She entered the Chantry and walked in through the candlelit vestibule, her steps echoed alone in the long hallway. Sisters and a few visitors wandered above her like ghosts, floating in the pews on the second floor. She looked around, cautious and careful not to study any one face for too long, lest she feel more awkward than she already did. She had not been to the Chantry for months, and, catching the glazed gazes of the clerics hovering about, it was almost as if they all knew. She felt a lump grow in her throat, but choked it down with a hard swallow. She looked through every corner and opened door she found along the way, urging herself to remain until she was sure he wasn't there.

"Hawke!" a voice cheered, so clear and happy it shook her bones, made heavy by the dreaded silence hanging over her. She turned to the side stair and found Sebastian, swiftly stepping down to meet her.

"Hello, Sebastian," she murmured. Her eyes strained with veins, resisting the urge to look away from him. "It's been a while."

Sebastian smiled wide and extended his arms. Whether it was to embrace her or shake her hand, Hawke wasn't sure. But he saw her weary expression, her walled stance, and recoiled. He kept up his smile. "It has," he said. "I haven't seen you since the... it doesn't matter. I know you have your reasons. Oh, those are lovely," he pointed to the flowers. "You must have another stop to make after this. I hope I'm not keeping you."

"No, actually, this is for... the Chantry. Andraste's Grace. They grow all over Ferelden. I saw them and I thought..."

She gave him a once over, and it struck her. He was in his Chantry garb; a black robe and sash, with a red tunic underneath, stitched with a golden sun insignia to match the banners outside. The cloth that marked him as a brother of the faith. She seldom ever saw him in it, even knowing he was a brother, long contemplating the renewal of his vows. Her better judgment knew he wore this often, he had to, just as the other clerics do. Yet seeing him clad in black, when she always knew him to wear white, was a difficult sight. Like there was a side of him that she was ignorant of, only just now coming to light. Like squinting under sunlight after days in darkness, even knowing the sun was always there.

She shook the shock from out of her head and started over. "I thought it would be nice to place them here, where everyone could see them."

"That's a wonderful idea," he said, accepting the bouquet on the Chantry's behalf. "I think there was some water and a vase upstairs. I could..."

"I came to see you," Hawke interrupted. "So maybe we could walk and talk?"

He grinned. "Walk and talk it is."

"I've accepted a job from the Knight Commander," she said as she followed him back up the stairs, towards a wing of shut doors. "Some of her people have gone missing."

"That's awful," said Sebastian. The news made him cringe, but he continued to rummage through a closet until he found a vase. "You're to find them, I trust?"

"Yes, they were last seen on the outskirts. Meredith believes they've been trapped by an apostate. I'm leaving in two days. I know it's short notice and you have duties here, but I thought, if nothing else, I could..."

"Absolutely."

"Pardon?"

"Yes, I want to come and help you," he said as he took the flowers and vase and brought them to another vacant room, where a basin of water sat on a nightstand. "That is what you wanted to ask me, is it not?"

"It is. Or at least tell you where we'd all be going, since everyone else seems to be going, as well. Are you certain this is all right? I'm not talking about a day's trip to the Wounded Coast. We may be gone for a while."

"I suppose I will have to discuss it with Elthina," he said while pouring water from the basin to the vase. "But I'm certain she'll understand. It's to assist Templars, after all. And besides she... we've been arguing. I can't seem to stay on her good side, I'm sure she'll be glad to not see me for a few days."

"Is it about your future here?"

A jilt in Sebastian's wrist caused the basin to slip, and a trickle of water missed the vase's opening and splat on the desk. "Mostly, yes," he sighed as he steadied his aim again and resumed filling the vase. "With the Viscount dead, I've been searching for outside help. The other cities are anxious. That cousin I mentioned, who's ruling Starkhaven? He rules still, but barely holding together. Even more incompetent than I feared. With Lady Harriman gone, and with the rest of the family dropping their support of him, and other noble families doing the same. Someone will make a claim, and soon."

"But not you?"

"I thought I was making progress with Viscount Dumar, he was my best and biggest chance for support, but... it doesn't matter now. I feel like I'm back where I started, only Elthina is even angrier at me."

"I'm so sorry to hear that, Sebastian, although it may help to stop looking at success as a straight line. Just because you made a mistake, or things aren't going the way you feel they should, that doesn't mean you're wrong or doomed to failure. If anything, it means you're on the right path. Things only get harder when you try to accomplish something."

"Sounds like you're speaking from experience."

"Yes, it took me a long time to unlearn that thinking, of a straight path. But please don't take this as me cajoling you into taking back your lands. I'm just trying to say..."

"Hawke, I could never think that of you. I know what you meant, and I will consider what you told me with great regard, as I always do."

"Good, I'm glad. Still, this does not seem like the time to go off on an unrelated job, if that's the case."

"No, it's all right. For all Meredith's... eccentricities, she's keeping things stable, well enough. If she's without her Templars, she'll look exposed, and that could invite danger. Even if I'm powerless to help Starkhaven right now, I can at least have some small part in protecting Kirkwall."

"That's a good way of looking at it, and she'll remember we did this for her. See? Taking an outside venture to further your goals. You're already applying what I've told you."

"And the time away from Kirkwall could clear the head, might do us all some good."

Hawke forced a light laugh. "Ah, sweet Sebastian, always looking on the bright side."

"And it will give us some time to talk."

She flinched. "I'm sorry? We're talking right now, are we not?"

"I hope it's all right if I put these here for now," Sebastian stood the flowers on a table and walked past Hawke, back down the way they came. "I'm glad you came by, Hawke. I have something I've been wanting to show you."

She followed him down the stairs and out a door in the back, past the pews and the dormitory wing of the clerics. They walked behind the Chantry building, where a small cobblestone road winded through a patch of bushes, and straight into a garden. The vines kept at bay in the front by the golden magister statues were taking over in the back. They circled around stone pillars, filled the cracks in the walls, and twisted along statuettes and benches. Trees with loose, hanging branches watched overhead, as if pilgrims of wood bowing heads of leaves in solemn contemplation. The only others around were birds, chirping from the treetops before catching the ongoing gusts. It felt to be miles away from the city.

"I've been living in Kirkwall for years," said Hawke as she looked around, everything shred of green new to her eyes. "I didn't even realize there was anything back here. It's lovely, thank you for showing me this."

"Oh, ah, you're welcome," he stuttered, "but the place itself isn't what I intended to show you."

Confused, Hawke continued to follow him to the center of the garden, where a walled ring of dark granite stood, indifferent to all the green around it. When she got close, she saw there were words all across, painstakingly carved along its smooth surface. Closer still, and she saw they were all names.

"This must be..."

"The memorial wall. I didn't realize you never saw it, but I..."

"I remember," she said, trailing her finger through the rows, following the order until she found the name she was looking for. "Here, 'Wesley Vallen'," she said, saying the name slowly as she traced the indentations of each letter. "I remember you telling Aveline you did this, placed her first husband's name here. Even though you never met him."

"Yes, and I did the same for... for your loss."

Hawke didn't need to guess. She followed the letters until she found 'Leandra Hawke'. "I see," she said plainly. “Thank you.”

"Based on what you told me, I thought it would be best to use the Hawke name. But if you think she would have preferred Amell, I'm sure I can..."

"No," she said, firmly and bluntly. "No, this is fine. She left Kirkwall as an Amell, but she came back as a Hawke. That's how it's going to stay."

"There's another name, next to hers."

Hawke raised a brow, curious at Sebastian's sudden caution. She widened her focus and looked around her mother's place on the wall, to find 'Carver Hawke' above it. When her sight and touch synched together, knowing it was truly the name of her brother on that wall, her whole body shivered, as if the summer sun was blotted out and the gentle breezes turned to whipping winds. Her nails clung onto the indentations of his name. Shoulders hunched and head hung low, her whole body curled inward. Her normally statuesque stature caving from the inside.

"I never told you about Carver. I never even told you I had a brother."

 

"You didn't. Fenris told me."

"I didn't tell Fenris either. I didn't tell anyone."

"No, but it's my understanding that your sister spoke of him often."

"That's true," Hawke sighed as she retracted her fingers from off the wall, reeling herself back in from the verge of tears. "They were twins, after all. I can only imagine what it was like for her. But Bethany has always been far better at sharing than I ever was. You two would've gotten along splendidly, I'm sure."

"I'm sure we would," he said, inching closer to her, nudging his head so that he could see past the veil of loose-hanging hair and look at her face. "But that doesn't mean I treasure our friendship any less, just because you're more private. That's your choice and I respect that, truly I do. But I want you to know I am here for you. I have training in helping with grief, I have some experience."

Hawke kept her walls up and sneered, "I'm aware of the basic functions of priesthood, thank you."

"I only mean that I can give you more help, should you require it."

"What are you implying?"

"Nothing, Hawke. It's only been a few months since you lost your mother, and with the Qunari attack, you becoming Champion... it can take a long time for people to recover from loss, and I worry you haven't been given much time to do so. I was waiting for you to come to the Chantry on your own accord, you used to come all the time, but..." 

"I didn't come here for any religious purpose. Just the walk here made me uneasy. Reminded of just how alone I am, in this place. I only came to ask a friend a favor, if he's there."

Sebastian buttoned his mouth and sidestepped away, retreating slightly from Hawke's side until there was a safe, friendly space between them once again. He stared at the wall for a moment before another plan formed in his mind. "Did I ever tell you my brothers were twins?"

Her ears perked. "No, you only said you had two older brothers. The heir and the spare."

"Exactly so. They were identical."

"I've never heard of such a thing. I've never known or seen another pair of twins."

"Rare, but it does happen. For the children to look exactly the same, even more so. My parents made no illusions to what their roles would be, and my brothers hated it. I remember they avoided eye contact with each other. The 'younger' twin, Damian, was especially violent growing up... often took it out on me." Mustering bravery, he took his eyes from off the wall and back at her and smiled, slowly approaching again. "Remember when I said swordplay involved too much getting hit? Most of that was his influence. Not that I was good at it to begin with."

"That's awful, I'm so sorry."

"The eldest, Baldwin, was more melancholic. He'd sometimes lock himself in his room and play his lyre for hours. They weren't anything alike, but resigned to that fate all the same. My parents thought themselves blessed, they thought it a curse. I think towards the end they were more accepting, but..."

"Have you no fond memories of them at all?"

"Those were the fond memories," he chuckled. "Some days were better than others. I was allowed to hunt with them, for a time, until my father forbade me from coming, that is."

"Why did he do that?"

"I kept letting the animals out."

She cocked her head. "That would suggest you didn't want to go to these hunts."

"Oh, I did at first. But once I saw those animals in the cages, knowing they'd be let out the next morning just to be chased down, and I couldn't bare it any more. Foxes have especially sad, expressive eyes."

"I don't believe in hunting for sport, but what did you think these nobles were doing? Hunting is a common recreation, is it not?"

"You're right, and I did know, but... seeing them made it different. It was one of the few things my family did together, and I wanted to be part of that, but it seemed so needless and cruel. There was so much more we could have done in our positions."

"You are such a softie," said Hawke, in a weary wisp of a voice, somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. Her broad shoulders unhinged, eyes rolled, her stance relaxed.

"See?" Sebastian cheered, a glint of certain victory in his eyes. "I learned something about your family, now you've learned something about mine. Now we're even."

"Even?" she snorted. "All you learned was that I have a younger brother, my sister's twin. You could almost write a book on what you've just told me."

"Then you will just have to tell me more," he smirked.

"You ass," she spit out with a shove to his shoulder. "All right, fine. One more thing for today. Let's see... those flowers I gave you, Andraste's Grace? They grew all over Lothering, the village we lived in before coming here. Carver used to pick them all the time. He had a crush on one of the lay sisters of the Chantry, you see. I forget her name... she was Orlesian, I think. She definitely had an accent, and she always had stories that he and Bethany loved. She reminds me of you, actually."

"Oh? Not the Orlesian part, I hope."

"Very funny. No, it's because she was among the most devoted and faithful there, even though she wasn't fully ordained. And she was kind and considerate. Lovely, too, she had the most gorgeous blue..."

Hawke caught herself at the end of the sentence, the very last word, like tripping over a pebble just before the finish line. She kept the word "eyes" on the tip of her tongue and swallowed it back down, not even checking to see if Sebastian caught what she was about to say. "Anyway, Carver heard that Andraste's Grace was the lay sister's favorite. So he'd scavenge through town and into the hills to find them. Then he'd yank them out of the earth whenever he spotted them. He'd bring them to her with chunks if dirt and worms still at the root."

"I hope the lay sister appreciated his enthusiasm, if nothing else."

"She did. Bethany and I would make fun of him for it, but the sister would peck him on the cheek, and he didn't care what any of us said."

"He sounds like a wonderful young man."

"He was. I'm sorry," she stepped away from the wall, distancing herself from the name and all the memories each letter gave. "I've taken up too much of your time, I really must be off."

"I don't mind, Hawke. Not terribly busy now, anyway. I thought we might..."

"No, I have much to do. Still need to get supplies for the trip. We'll all meet at the crossroads at sunup in two days, all right?"

"I'll be there, bright and early."

"Right. Well, then, I'm off. Thank you for... for the wall. For sharing this with me."

"Thank you for coming by, and for the flowers."

Hawke gave an agreeable smile and nod, and walked out of the ring. With the ends of the garden at her feet, she paused for a moment, then turned herself around. She sped up her pace, as if a wound up gear was spinning on her back. She walked where Sebastian stood, unmoved, and swooped in before he had the chance to react. She nudged her head downward, since she was a hair taller than him. The long tip of her nose flicked against his cheek just before her lips landed on him. A swift and feather light kiss on the curve of his cheekbone. "Thank you," she spit out before going back again. She u-turned around him as if momentum wouldn't allow her to stop. She did not look back at him, and she kept her breath locked in her gut until she was out of the garden, then out of the Chantry altogether.

Once she passed through the hall, out the building, and she heard the doors pound shut behind her, she let her back hit the cold surface and she slid downward, crumbling on her feet.

"Andraste help me," she whined to herself, a mumbling little prayer through her bumbling lips. "I'm such a fool."


	10. Before You Go

Chapter Ten: Before You Go

 

The cozy little village got smaller and smaller as the wagon trailed on. Through a film of tears, the buildings became hazy to little Bethany, tucked away in the hills, until they were lost in the snow and mist. The lights inside each house died with distance, the sounds of their everyday busywork dissipated into nothingness as her family drove further away. A blanket of flurries covered the tracks behind them, and with the cover of night, the path to their old home was obscured. It was forever lost to the Hawke family.

Bethany sat at the farthest end of the wagon, watching the village slip further from her sight, until there was nothing to watch at all. She looked into the wagon, saw everyone else had fallen asleep. The other families were huddled up together. Judith was curled over, purposely with her back turned to her, way on the other side. Curled by her side was the mabari pup that followed their wagon, too late and too far gone to return to its kennel. It was the runt of the litter, and it had taken a liking to her older sister. And as far as Judith was concerned, the dog was the only one in the wagon with her.

On the other side was Leandra, with Carver nestled in her lap, fast asleep. She gave a tired smile and said softly, "Why don't you come rest over here, dear? There's plenty of room."

She looked away, back at the fuzzy grey and white trail. If she stared hard enough, let the cold wind fly through her hair freely, it almost seemed like the sky could pluck her from the wagon and take her away. Then she would be gone, as her sister wanted her to be. As everyone surely wanted her to be.

Her father scooted up to sit next to her, put his thick log of an arm around her petite frame. "Doing all right all the way over her?" he said in a low, grainy voice. "Careful, don't want to fall over."     

Bethany only responded with sniffles.

"Hey, come now," he said. "Dry those tears. This is a new beginning for us. Nothing to be sad about."

"Yes there is," she squeaked, huddling in her blanket. "I ruined everything."

"Hush now, you were only trying to help."

"But I was stupid. I tried to heal an animal in broad daylight, for all to see. And now we have to move."

"Oh darling," said Leandra. "You just wanted to help the poor creature. You have a big heart, Bethany, no one is faulting you for that."

"Judith is," she whimpered. Her big brown eyes were glazed with gobs of water, and the whites made pink. "She hates me!" she sobbed, every worked broken up by her choked back tears. "And, and it's my fault we're moving!"

"Now, now, enough of that talk," said Malcolm, wiping away her tears with his bulking hands. "Judith's a big girl, she knows this is just something that happens. And she doesn't hate you, she just really liked that Barris boy."

"It's just as well," said Leandra. "I think his family is sending him off to be a templar. So you see? It wasn't mean to be anyway."

"Those bonds can be fleeting," said Malcolm, nodding in agreement with his wife. "Broken as easily as they're made. But family, that's forever."

"But I was so stupid, and she'll never forgive me. Not ever."

"Bethany, please," Malcolm grinned. "You're not stupid for making a mistake. Only fools go through life thinking everything they've done is right, thinking they'll never make mistakes. And besides, you think you're the only one who ever slipped up with magic?"

Bethany lifted her head and gasped. Her eyes popped from their dreary daze to stare at her father in disbelief. "You? But you're the best mage ever!"

"Hush now, Chickadee, let's keep the exclamations of magical prowess to a minimum. Don't want to wake up the other families. But yes, I've caused all sorts of problems. Careful as I try to be... in fact, the last time we moved was my fault."

Bethany clasped her little hands over her open mouth. "No!"

"Yes! I was out chopping firewood, little Judy insisted on helping. I didn't watch her as closely as I should have, and she wandered off. A few bandits found her and I panicked. I set the poor bastards on fire."

"Father, you swore!" Bethany giggled, shocked and amused by the scandal.

"Oh. Err, excuse me," Malcolm choked, checking for Leandra's disapproval. "I set the poor... not very nice people... on fire." He looked for his wife's face again, and proceeded when he saw her nod. "And the villagers saw the blaze for miles. I put it out with an ice spell as quick as I could, but the damage was done."

"But Father, that sounds like it was Judith's fault."

"No, she was young and didn't know better. I should have watched her better, or told her to go home, or used a more controlled spell. Panic is... not a friend to any mage. The point is, these things will happen, no matter how careful you are. You have to learn to deal with it, not just prevent it."

Bethany sniffled, tried to suck back in all the tears. "I'll try, Father. But, what should I do about Judith?"

"She's a big girl, she'll be all right. Sometimes you have to just let people be mad for a while. I promise she still loves you." He propped her on his lap and hugged her tight. "No one got hurt, we're all still together, that's what's important."

"But we have to move..."

"Ah, pish. Wasn't so great of a town, anyway. Now we have a chance to start over!"

"Okay," she said. Bethany fell into her father's arms, her head against his chest. She sniffled one last time against his coat, before his steady heartbeat calmed her down.

"Trust me, Chickadee. It'll be all right. I have a good feeling about Lothering."

 

***

 

Hawke and her companions gathered at the crossroads, as planned. Daylight still climbing through layers of darkness, both their destination and Kirkwall hung in shadows above them, from opposing sides.

 

"What a pretty morning," said Merrill, stretching.

"Speak for yourself," moaned Isabela. "Maker, I'd forgotten how much I hate waking up early."

"Waking up in general is never much fun," snorted Varric. He paced in a small circle at the edge of the hill, distracted eyes wandering about.

"I thought you said you weren't coming," said Hawke as she busied herself, checking and double-checking her supply pack. She kept her voice especially soft in the morning quiet, but still firm. She forewent her usual full plating for more flexible chainmail armor and coif. Over that, she wore a rich blue surcoat, with the Amell crest sewn in, to let rescues know she was friendly.

"I'm not, just wanted to... to see you off. That and to tell you Anders isn't coming."

"I see. Well, thank you for asking on my behalf."

"Wait, who else are we waiting for?" asked Isabela.

"Sebastian, of course," said Hawke as she re-inspected every bag on her belt. "Oh, and Bethany will be joining us, as well." 

"They would give her leave from the Circle?" asked Fenris.

"It was difficult, but I managed to convince the Knight Commander that this mission was Circle business, and as a respected Enchanter, it'll be Bethany's duty to accompany us, and ensure our success."

"It will be nice to see her again," said Fenris as he lightly combed through his hair with the armored tips of his fingers.

Hawke raised one of her thick eyebrows with a tiny smirk. "Fenris, are you... preening?"

"What? No, it was purely reflex. My hair was in my face."

"Your hair is always in your face."

"Then it's only just now started to bother me."

"Oh, Fenris, you have nothing to worry about. You look very handsome, as always, and Bethany will be happy to see you."

Fenris turned away from Hawke in a fit of coughing. She hovered her hand over his slumped shoulder. "Are you all right? I'm so sorry, that was presumptuous of me. "  

"It's fine, I just... it will be nice to see her."

"And you do look handsome."

"You are too kind, Hawke. I would repay the compliment, but I'm still only half awake."

"Don't worry about it. That compliment's on the house."

"You know, Hawke," Varric blurted out with a shudder, like what he'd been wanting to say had been boiling in the pit of his gut, making him ache, and he could do no more to keep it in. "You don't have to do this, it's really not your problem. It's not too late to back out."

 "It absolutely is too late," Hawke answered without pause, not even lifting her eyes to look at him. "I've already made all the preparations, I've told Meredith I would..."

"That's just the thing, Meredith's not the boss of you, but she's ordering you around like she is. Can't you see she's using you?"

"That's enough, Varric," said Fenris as he inserted himself between the two.

"I just think maybe this isn't a great idea. I think Hawke needs to rest a while."

"I think it's time for everyone to let Hawke make her own decisions."

"Fenris," said Hawke, lifting herself from her busywork. "It's all right. Varric, don't worry so much. I'll be back soon, I promise we'll spend time together once I do."

"But that's not what I'm worried about. Okay, maybe it is a little. But you're rushing from job to job, it's not like you."

"Varric, I'm the Champion of Kirkwall, this is how I make a living. When a problem that effects the city arises, I take care of it. That sometimes involves rushing."

"Yeah, but is this really a problem that effects Kirkwall, or just Meredith's pride? Not like this apostate ever attacked anyone, if she's even still alive."

"There are missing templars in need of rescue."

"Maybe they just didn't make it back yet, or maybe they're already dead. I mean, shit, Hawke, haven't you been avoiding templars all your life? Would it be so bad if the world lost a few?"

"That's not the point, and I'll thank you not to bring my personal life into this."

"All right, I'm sorry, but I still say Meredith is using you. You don't need to do her dirty work just to feel useful."

"Varric, I've had enough!" she shouted, a violent quiver in her step as she dropped her pack. The quake of her voice stunned all of her companions. She looked around, seeing their unnerved faces. A line of flush rose in her face as she tried to choke down all her anger. "I mean... Varric, please go home. We'll be back soon."

Two figures walked from the wavering patch of fog that separated the group from the path back home. As they drew closer, tumbles of grey air thinned, until the visible forms of Bethany and Knight Captain Cullen appeared.

Cullen was stiff, the bags under his eyes deeper than normal. Bethany's big brown eyes glittered upon finding Hawke, and she leapt from the templar's side to embrace her sister, her backpack jangling as she moved.

Hawke caught her with open arms. "I've missed you so, Bethany. How are you doing?"

"Better now," she said while squeezing. "And what about you? I haven't gotten any letters since... since..."

"I'm sorry for falling silent, I've just been busy. At least this way we'll have plenty of time to catch up."

"You're always busy, and things like this aren't going to happen often, if at all. I need to hear from you regularly, so I know I still have a sister."

"I... I'm sorry," Hawke choked.

"Don't be sorry, just write me more often."

"I will, I promise."

Cullen cleared his throat. "If I might interject for a moment?"

"Of course, Knight Captain. I beg your pardon. Thank you for escorting my sister."

"I hope you appreciate the gravity of this gesture, Champion. Knight Commander Meredith is placing a lot of trust in you."

"I do, although I fail to see how this is supposed to be some sort of gamble. Bethany is well-trained, and she should put that training to good use. No point in training if it can't be used when emergencies occur."

"The Circle is not a military academy. I think you know very well what happens when mages have no training."

"I do, in fact," Hawke answered with a stony stiff face, a small disarming smile carved in. "My faith in my sister, and her abilities, remain. She will do the Circle proud."

"I believe this is more a templar matter than a mage one. If I had my way, I would be leading my best to rescue my comrades. But Meredith insists she needs me in Kirkwall."

"Worry not, Knight Captain. I will find the missing templars, and seek out and destroy whatever's trapped them, if I can."

An unhappy scowl cracked along Cullen's square face. "Yes, for a fee."

"I am your Champion, no longer a mercenary. It is my duty to protect Kirkwall and its citizens. I only charge people who can stand to lose a few coins, and I assure you, the money will go to good use." 

Cullen nodded his head, conceding. "I've taken enough of your time, and every moment spent idly, those templars fall in deeper danger. Maker turn his gaze on you, Champion. I shall pray for your swift and successful return."

The group remained tense and unmoving until Cullen passed back through the fog, collectively sighing in relief once he was gone.

"Wow," said Isabela, "the Champion talking down the Knight Captain, and with two mages at her side. I can't believe I got to see that for free."

Hawke flipped through her pack again, and after again confirming that everything was accounted for and in place, she began to walk back along the road, inching along the path back to Kirkwall. She squinted through the fog and groaned, icy air blew from her lips as she huffed. "I was certain he'd be here by now."

Hawke paused, a reluctant scowl creeping along her face, when her dog began to bark. "What's the matter, Gallant?" she said as her eyes went in circles, following him as he thumped around her, then galloped back towards the road. "Gallant, no, we're not going back. This is unlike you."

Hawke barely lifted a foot to give chase before her dog returned from the fog, along with Sebastian, thumping around his feet, both flapping tongue and stubby tail wagging at the sight of him.

"Good to see you again, too!" Sebastian laughed. "Didn't realize you missed me so much."

"He probably smells snacks in your pockets, Choir Boy," said Varric, rolling his eyes.

"Probably," he chuckled, not at all phased by the dwarf's unhappy tone. "That's why I wasn't allowed to feed the Chantry mouser, after he put on so much weight. Can't seem to help spoiling them."

Hawke's face twitched, fighting the urge to smile at Sebastian's remark and infectious laughter. She managed to push it down before his eyes met hers, so he only saw a straight mouth and folded arms. "You kept me waiting."

"Forgive me, Hawke. Elthina was not as fond of the idea as I had hoped."

She frowned, but her stiff demeanor faltered. "She didn't want you to go with me?"

"She wants me to be her eyes and ears around Kirkwall, can't do that when I'm not there. It was foolish of me to think I could change her mind, but I did wear her down eventually."

"Oh?" Hawke allowed herself to forgive the misunderstanding and smile. "Are you sure you didn't run off without her permission, just to fight at my side again?"

"Perish the thought, Hawke. However begrudgingly, she did admit helping you in this endeavor was a worthy cause. She's noticed your absence and worries for you."

"I will... take that under advisement. Now come along, everyone, we've dallied long enough."

"Hold on just a moment, Hawke," Sebastian said as he approached Bethany. "I don't believe we've met."

Bethany smiled and tilted her head, her eyes never meeting Sebastian's, a brush of blush bloomed in her cheeks. "I may have seen you about in the Chantry, and you were at the funeral, but we've never been formally introduced."

"Then we should rectify that," he eagerly clasped her hand with his. "I am Sebastian Vael, brother of the faith. A pleasure to finally meet you, Lady Hawke."

"Oh my. Ah, yes," she fumbled, awkwardly shaking the hand he held. "The pleasure is all mine."

"All right, you've met," interrupted Hawke. "We're on a job to rescue templars from danger, not attending a ball."

"Sebastian, if I might," Fenris cut in between the two. He shared a quick glance with Hawke, and smiled to see her relieved expression. "It's been a long time since any of us saw her. I am glad to see you again, Bethany."

"And I'm happy to see you too, Fenris," she replied in kind.

"Hold on, you all have the whole trip to catch up," said Varric as he wedged himself in the middle, giving Bethany a quick hug.

"What? You mean you're not coming?"

"Sorry, Sunshine, not this time. Look out for your sister and stay close, huh? Can you do that for me?"

"Of course, Varric, but..."

He tore himself away and walked, a single wave as his form disappeared in the fog.

"All right, we've established everyone was missed," said Hawke with firm and demanding clarity. "But now we really must be off."     

 


	11. Deep Rooted Anger

Chapter Eleven: Deep Rooted Anger

 

Carver was with the other new recruits. There were a lot of them, young folk from small towns and rural hamlets, just like him. Looking for a sense of purpose, patriotism, or just whatever coin they could scrounge together, just like him. Bellowing and boisterous, they flexed their budding muscles and displayed their fresh battle scars. The hair-curling stench of Darkspawn flesh had finally been cleansed by the large fire at the heart of the camp. It was bearable, as it was only enemy corpses that burned. Another day done, another battle with no causalities. They waved and applauded as their King Cailain, unscathed in his gilded armor, passed through their training grounds. They would all play a part in the grand, glorious victory; a story for the ages.

Judith ran her hand over her own scar. A variant of Darkspawn, known as the Shriek, pounced on her from nowhere and clawed at her head until it tore through her visor. She managed to cut through its throat with the dagger at her side and threw it off before any blood got on her. The commanding officers and knights alike told everyone to avoid their blood at all costs, lest you become tainted like them. When compared to a fate such as the Blight, and considering her clumsy mistake, a long scratch over the eye did not seem so bad. 

Her fingers twitched and curled against her cheek where the scar ended, telling herself not to touch it, yet it was all she could do to distract herself. She waited on the far side of camp, watching soldiers and workers funnel through the old ruins of Ostagar, waiting for her brother's group to thin out. But as sunlight waned behind the crumbled towers, she grew impatient.

Carver was laughing with his comrades when he caught sight of her over his broad shoulder. "Oh, it's you," he said, voice falling flat. "Come to criticize the way I hold my sword again? The Darkspawn didn't have any problem with it. Or should I say they did?"

The other young recruits broke out in laughter at his boast. Judith's face remained stiff as stone. "May I speak with you in private, brother?"    

Carver shrugged, but grunted a single, "Fine," and followed.

Judith, unmoved by her brother's annoyance with her, lead him past the fire where most of the recruits still gathered, past the kennels where the mabari war hounds slept, and past the rear camps where the more reclusive Ash Warriors trained well into the night. She lead him to the gates that separated the camp and the Kocari Wilds. Unruly swamp grass and curls of fog crept out between the bars, as if trying to cross over, before dying upon the road.

 

"Sister," grumbled Carver, "what reason could you possibly have for dragging me all the way out here?"

"To warn you," she replied, her voice whisper quiet, yet sharp in its urgency, like the sudden cut of a dagger in the shadows. "I've been overhearing General Loghain. He and the King have been arguing more and more each passing day."

"That's it? Everyone in this whole bloody camp knows they don't get along."

"But have you listened to what they actually argue about? Loghain is a seasoned veteran, and a hero. Cailain is not much older than we are, and still wet behind the ears. He's been ignoring every bit of advice Loghain gives him."

"And? We've won every battle so far, I say good for our king for not following the words of some old man."

"That old man is the Hero of River Dane! He fought alongside the Rebel Queen! Without him, we would..."

"Yes, yes, I know," he groaned, rolling his eyes as if he were a bored schoolboy being lectured. "We'd still be fending off the Orlesians, the man has said as much himself plenty of times. And not that I'm not grateful, but he's not the king."

"No, he's a general. Haven't you noticed that Cailain has no grasp of military strategy or formation? Every battle has been a head-on charge!"

"And you could do better?"

"I didn't say that."

"But you do think that? Yes, sister, of course you think you could do it better. Anything anyone can think to do, perfect Judith does it better. That's why you're the new rear guard while I'm just part of the fodder vanguard."

"That's where all the new recruits start, you dolt. I've been in this army longer and have proven myself. You don't just get a better position because you think you deserve it."

"Oh yes, and it just so happens the King's Guard saw your potential, picked you out from dozens of others?"

"Potential nothing, I worked to get as far as I did. Ugh," Judith groaned, grated nerves dismantling her stern and parental display. "I can't even talk to you without you missing the point and going way off topic. You always do this. I try to help you, and you turn my intentions inside out."

"Who's asking for help?" said Carver, throwing his bulky arms upward, and raising his voice to combat his sister's defensive subtly. "Certainly not me! Every battle has gone well, better than well, we've barely lost anyone. But you still have to find some problem with it, don't you?"

"We're in a war, Carver. And there is no such thing as a good war, or a war that goes well. I don't think the king even realizes this, and if he goes on as he is, I fear he will soon lead us to a slaughter. If that should come, you need to find me, so we can leave."

"You can't be serious. After all that talk about hard work, you talk of abandoning your post in the same breath?"

"This is just as difficult for me as it is for you, but we are expendable here. We need to protect and provide for Mother and Bethany, above all else. Ferelden can be saved without us, but if we're gone, they will be all alone."

Carver crossed his arms. "Then perhaps you should go home now, if that's how you feel."

"I'm not leaving you to die, either."

"I don't want or need you to protect me. Maybe I'd be doing better without you always hovering over me."

"How dare you. I want to protect this country just as much as you do. Being a knight was my dream! You're the one who followed me here because you have no direction of your own! But you won't even let me help you!"

Carver fell silent, anger flashing in his amber eyes, a heavy lump in his throat as he choked down jumbled arguments.

"Carver," Judith's voice dropped, defenses fell. "I didn't mean... I just..."

"Hey!" a surly guard shouted as he approach the gate. "What are you two doing all the way out here? No one is allowed into the Wilds."

"I was just leaving," said Carver as he stomped away.

"Carver, wait," said Judith, but her brother continued until he was gone. "I just want to help you."

 

***

 

The fog ebbed at the group's ankles, weaker and thinner as they entered the forest. It faded along with the path that had connected the entrance of the forest to the road back to civilization; a walkway soon lost to layers of grass and dirt.

Hawke glanced back as she carved a small indenture in her first marking tree with a dagger. In their short decent, the silhouette of Kirkwall--almost mystical, wrapped in shrouds of sea mist and clouds--was shut off by a wall of tress. She turned and resumed her place at the vanguard. Her boots stomped through thickets of weeds and branches.

 

"Remember, everyone," said Hawke, "if you should get lost, remain where you are, and I will find you."

Isabela groaned, lagging behind. "Seems like you're tying to lose us, at the pace you're going."

"Sister, please," said Bethany as she spiked her own pace with a hop, to walk right next to her. "Could you slow down a bit? I know this is a serious thing and we need to act fast, but we need to do it together."

Hawke stopped and stared at Bethany, her wide eyes glowing like gobs of tender honey, and sighed, slowing her pace to a mere march. "Very well. I suppose we need to be vigilant as well as swift."

"Exactly," Bethany smiled. "Wouldn't want to walk past a clue as to where they are."

"How did I ever get this far without you?"

"You had lots of help, I'm sure. Even if you don't need it, it's sometimes enough to know it's there."

 

So the group walked a slower, more even pace as the mouth of the forest gaped open. They trudged down a sloping tongue of rocks, leading into a grey canyon. The wood had already swallowed them whole, towering tree trunks completely walled off any signs of the world outside. Even the ever-present echoes of seawater splashes and seagull caws were absorbed in the bristling of leaves and wind.

Hawke took her sister's hand and gently guided her down the slope. As they approached the bottom, a swarm of animals went up in the opposite direction. Squirrels and rabbits scampered from their tucked in spaces. Hoards of mice skittered over the rocks like little squeaking rivers of fur. Deer and foxes leapt from the bushes.

 

Gallant the mabari ran in circles with an anxious bark, though bound by loyalty not to stray far from Hawke.

"Easy now, Gallant, that's a good boy," said Hawke as she patted her dog's head before marveling at the small exodus of wildlife around her. "What's going on here..."

"Fleeing animals is never a good sign," said Isabela.

"Not necessarily so in our case. Could be a sign whatever danger we're hunting is close by."

"Oh, well then, never mind this ominous sign if we can be done with this and back by supper time."

"Let's keep moving."

"This is very wrong," said Merrill. She dug through her pack until she fished out a small wooden halla and pressed it against her chest. "I'm sorry, I guess that's obvious, but it's not the usual kind of wrong we see in Kirkwall. Not the kind of wrong I'm used to."

"Merrill... are you praying?" said Sebastian, a friendly curiosity in the soft lilt of his voice.

"Sort of. Before we left, I asked Andruil for help, because we'd be hunting... in a way. I asked for swiftness and success. But now I think I should ask Ghilan'nain for aid."

"That's the halla god, correct?"

"Oh," Merrill's eyes popped. "Yes, Mother of Halla. But you know, it's not like she's just in charge of halla and halla-related problems. Don't just ask her for less lumpy milk, you see. The clan looks to her for guidance in the face of uncertainty. When I do something new, before finding a new place to settle, or even just when I'm nervous, that's when we, I... that is, the clan looks to her. My clan, anyway."

Sebastian smiled. "Thank you for sharing that with me. I hope she answers you."

"Don't be nervous, kitten," said Isabela. "This will be just like anything we do in Kirkwall, but with a slightly greater chance of splinters."

"All right, I'll try to calm down. Maybe the animals are just fleeing from a very large bear. Still, I'm glad you're here, I'm glad you came back when you did."

"What, and miss all this? Wouldn't dream of it. Missed all your sweet faces too much, you especially."

"But why did you leave in the first place? You almost left when the qunari attacked, but then you came back."

"Merrill, you really have to get used to the idea of me coming and going. It's in my job description."

"Oh," she pouted, head down, twiddling her halla in her hands. "Well as long as there's coming, not just going. Can't go if you don't come."

"Merrill, I missed you so much, I'm going to refrain from telling a dirty joke about that."

Sebastian threw his hand over his mouth, but a muffled snort still escaped through the cracks. "I see someone was thinking the same thing," Isabela laughed.  

"I missed you as well, Isabela," he replied once he regained control of his breathing.

"Aww, aren't we all just missing each other. I might even blush."

"Enough with the feelings already," Hawke commanded from the front. Her march came to a halt, footing shifted, fingers tapped on the handle of her sword, which she carried freely. "Eyes up, and on your guard. Something's here."

Branches and leaves bustled and twitched, though not in the same way as when the animals were fleeing. It was a lingering shudder, a bitter air passing through the wood. The earth crumbled as ropes of roots were yanked out from their trenches, clumps of dirt and rocks spilling over as they emerged. A circle of snapping bark surrounded the group, like the cracking joints of old and aching bodies suddenly lifted from sleep. As the roots took shape and moved like feet, some of the trees completely uprooted themselves and began to walk. Their skyward branches lowered and reached out like arms growing from their mouth-less heads.

"Sylvans!" Merrill cried as she craned her hands in a flowing up-and-down motion, like plucking invisible plants from the earth, until the magic manifested into wily strings of seedling green, sprouting from beneath her feet, lashing at the creatures in equal measure.

Once they lifted themselves from the caked-in earth, the sylvan's movements became swifter. Merrill spread her web of nature magic as wide as she could, ensnaring some of the creatures in the rear. Bethany kept at her side; she quickly observed where Merrill's tendrils were weakest, and assisted with a glyph that paralyzed some of the sylvans in a clutch of green light. 

Two sylvans in the front broke free and lashed their splintered limbs at the group, to which Hawke immediately countered. She swung her sword in a wide horizontal arc, and the blade crunched against the broken wooden arms. They waved their broken branches until more sprouted from the blunted edges. Hawke gnashed her teeth and swung and swung again, each time the trees grew less and less. Another swing, a shorter re-growth, until the tip of her sword grazed against the heavy bark body. Bethany kept her glyph focused in that area to help her sister, as they were thickest there, and Hawke was throwing herself into the worst of it.  

Fenris mimicked Hawke as best he could with an axe instead of a sword. Though he did not throw in as much weight into every swing, he was naturally swifter than she, and the curved blade of his weapon cut through the trees cleaner.

Isabela let the sylvans in her corner come close, their crackling leafed fingers reaching for her, until she snipped them off with a quick succession of swipes. Arrows thudded against the bark; Isabela looked back once to see Sebastian behind her at an angle to help push them back, and she smiled, confident she would last longer than the creatures would.

Bethany remained in the center of the circle of creatures with Merrill, while her friends pushed them back. As deep as they cut, she observed, the sylvans persisted further still, until it began to look as futile as pushing back the flow of ocean waves.

"Maybe if I..." Bethany looked down, and a spark flickered in her free hand. She closed her fingers and cradled a tiny flame within.

"No, wait," said Merrill. "Fire would kill them quickly, but they're all too close together, and there's too much all around us! It could set the whole forest ablaze!"

Bethany flinched; her glyph blinked out, and another sylvan went free. "I have good control. I could do it."

"Bethany, please. I know a few things about taking risks, it's not worth it this time. Besides, you were always so good at ice spells, too!"

Bethany let out a small gasp, but she soon realized it was true; there were clusters of harmless, spiritless trees and plants all around, places one little flame could hop about to become a giant fire. She clenched her free hand shut, dousing the flame in the folds of her palm.

The two mages were shaken out of their concentration by a pair of shouts. They turned and saw that some of the sylvans withdrew their lashing and instead dug their roots back underneath the ground. Their tendrils threaded through the outer surface and grabbed Isabela and Sebastian from below, quickly sprouting around their ankles, circling their waists.

Hawke fled to them; she heard Fenris follow for a moment, only for his footsteps to be halted by the twist another uprooted attack. "Damn it," she snarled. Seeing Isabela and Sebastian were wholly gripped by hands of wood, she bolted for them first. Too close to their bodies to use her sword, she began ripping off wooden limbs, but they continued to worm all about, until they consumed them, and began reaching for her footcuffs.

"Sister, wait," said Bethany as she ran to her side. She twirled her staff, crystals crackling at its end. She tapped the tendrils at Hawke's foot and it froze at the slightest touch. The ice shot through the branches like fish upstream, locking every twist and thorn into a brittle, blinding white ice. The sylvans flailed in panic, but it was too late. Merrill did the same to free Fenris, and the combined ice spell washed over every last creature until they were a glittering ring of icicles and frozen bark.

Hawke reached again for the tendrils across Sebastian's chest, snapping one into white dust. Merril and Bethany helped free Isabela, then Fenris, while Hawke slashed through the brittle frozen monsters with her sword, crushed the tendrils with her boots.

"Sister," Bethany sighed. "I'm quite sure they're dead. That's not necessary."

"Doesn't hurt to be sure," said Hawke, grinding one branch into a fine dust under her heel. "Feels pretty good, too."

Isabela shrugged and stomped onto a fallen tendril that once gripped at her thigh, giggling as it shattered. "Ooh, she's right! It is satisfying! Well, now that we've killed these things, any idea what they were?"

"Sylvans," answered Merrill. "Spirits in trees. Demons, in this case. They can lie dormant for years, waiting to strike at any time."

"Spirits are capable of possessing living things other than mages," said Bethany. "But tress and plants? I never thought that was real."

"At least trees don't bleed," said Hawke with a weak chuckle as she stroked her sword with a cloth. "Much easier to clean."

"A disturbing realization," said Fenris, shuddering, "not even the simplest of creatures are entirely safe."

"It's not always like that," said Merrill. "Sometimes more intelligent spirits come into the world and take refuge in plants and animals. They don't want to fight, just observe. Sometimes they become something new."

Fenris scoffed. "That provides little comfort."

"Merrill, do you think there's any reason for them attacking us, or did we just provoke them?" asked Hawke.

She shook her head. "No, they were probably waiting for someone to get lost in this wood. But... the Veil is thin here. I feel a great anger, and sorrow. Maybe that woke them up, and we were in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Story of our lives, eh?" said Isabela, forcing a chuckle.

"I saw no signs of battle before they attacked us," said Hawke. "And the templars must have passed through here. How could we have awoken these sylvans where they did not?"

"Maybe this mage of yours summoned them," said Merrill, "to protect herself. It is possible. Of course... it's also possible her anguish of being trapped or killed woke them up. That's also possible."

"I see. Thank you for the information, Merrill."

She flinched at the gesture, but accepted it with a nod. "I... you're welcome."

Hawke turned to the group. "Is everyone all right? No injuries?" She waited for a shake of the head from every one before turning back towards the path. "Let's not risk 'waking up' any leftover creatures and press onward."

 


	12. The Kindness of Strangers

Chapter Twelve: The Kindness of Strangers

 

Little Bethany awoke in the middle of the night, her lips cracked and mouth dry. She navigated through the darkness with ease; though there was the temptation to cast a tiny flame in her hand to light the way, she decided the slight convenience was not worth any risk. She had lived in their little Lothering house long enough to know its corners and walk out safely.

Guided by her own memory and popping bright starlight, she walked to the well in front of the house. She strung it up and collected a drink for herself, when whispers were carried to her by the bitter night wind. She heard her father's voice, and in her weary daze, walked towards the familiar source. There was a sharpness to it that made her wince along the way, a cold edge that grazed her round face and combed through her black hair. Still she pressed on, stirred into clearer awareness by curiosity.

The whispers lead her to the shed at the edge of the family farm. The doors were open just a crack, enough that a faint blue light spilled outside. Her sister's mabari, Gallant, was curled comfortably in the front, and his triangular ears perked at Bethany's approach. His jowls warbled with an incoming bark, but once the dog saw it was Bethany, he retracted, his stubby tail thwacking the ground/ 

"Good boy," she said softly, giving him a quick pat on the head before stepping over him.

She approached the door and veered to the side, so her feet would not cross the eerie glow. From the outside, she hooked her fingers along the edge of the door, and poked her head into the entrance, just enough to see two men and two children. She looked in a little closer and squinted, and saw it was her father, her twin brother and their elder sister. The fourth man looked familiar, but Bethany could not place it without looking straight at him.

"Step forward, children," said the first man. He was almost as tall as Malcolm, with similar dark hair, strong cheekbones and firm chin. These were features common of Fereldens, even her siblings had it, whereas Bethany inherited her mother's softer traits, round cheeks and a broader nose. But the strange man's hair was neatly tucked back and his face as clean shaven, where Malcolm's hair was always long and disheveled, his thick beard obscured most of his face. 

"It's all right, son," said Malcolm, his voice soft. "There's nothing to be afraid of."

"B-but," Carver stood before the two men, eyes wide and misty with uncertainty. "He's a templar."

Bethany flinched, cold needles of fear piercing her gut. She backed away from the door, clasped her hands over her mouth so whimpers would not escape into the empty air. Her ankles shook, too weak and jittery to run.

"Obviously," snorted Judith, who stood beside Carver and gave him a shove. "Father, he's too afraid. I can protect the family all by myself!"

"Judith, please," said Malcolm. Bethany shuddered to hear her normally jubilant and relaxed father envelop his voice in such a harsh tone. "This isn't something I do lightly. It brings me no joy to place this burden on the two of you, but at least this way, it can be lighter if it is shared. Ser Bryant, if you would."

Ser Bryant. Bethany knew the man, knew the name. She knew every templar that ever crossed into little Lothering on inspection, but she couldn't place it while he was out of his armor. A foolish mistake.

"Each of you has an innate power," said Bryant. Though gripped by fear, Bethany looked on, and watched the templar hand her two siblings glowing blue vials. Even at a distance, Bethany could feel the power resonate from the glass, hear the ring of its call, carrying invisible notes. It was lyrium, without a doubt. "Though you will never be mages yourselves, that you were born from two strong magical families increases your potential. It has simply manifested another way."

"You mean, what the templars do?" asked Judith. "Sensing and stopping magic?"

"That is correct. With training, you will be able to sense most forms of nearby magic, including blood magic and demons, disrupt casting, and gain a greater resistance to spells."

"Training you will give us?"

"I will do as much as I can for you."

"But the lyrium," said Carver. "Doesn't it... hurt? And we'll have to keep taking it forever?"   

"No. What you each hold in your hands should be all you'll ever need. You already have the power to withstand and defeat evil magics, the lyrium awakens what you already have. It does not create the ability, as many of my brothers and sisters were lead to believe."

"It is no coincidence," said Malcolm, "and a well-kept secret, that many of the more powerful and attuned templars come from magical bloodlines. As members of the Amell and Hawke family, your potential is almost limitless."

"But why?" asked Carver. "Why must we do this? Are we to become templars?"

"No, you are to become guardians. If we're to remain free and together in this world, we have to be ready to fight. And, if the worst should come, if either I or... or Bethany fall prey to demons, you will need this power to take us down."

"Father, do not talk like that!" shouted Judith.

"Enough. You should already know what is expected of you, Judith. Even the most diligent, most disciplined, and most virtuous mage can still fall prey. If it happens, I won't be able to stop it. I could hurt you, or your mother. But we can take this precaution so that I will do the least amount of harm."

"Father, you," Carver's words became garbled and heavy. Bethany could hear him sucking back tears and snot. She was close to bursting as well. "You want us to, to be able to kill you?"

"I am sorry, my dear children," said Malcolm, voice cracking. "I am sorry I must force you to grow up so much sooner than you should. And what I ask of you is far worse than what any adult should be tasked with. But it will never be me that you kill. If that dark day should come, I will be lost. I can't always protect you from the monsters in this world, but I can give you the power to defeat them. Please, give me peace of mind."

"What about you, Ser Templar?" said Judith, her voice more in control than her grown father. Oh sister, Bethany sighed. She was always the strong one. "Why would you help us? We have no money, no nothing."

"I am also the scion of a magical family. I was able to sense your father's magic almost immediately, though he hides it well. The Circle is a place of education, something he already has, and something he has already passed down." Ser Bryant's voice was flat and stern, with only the slightest touch of tenderness. He was handling this much better than Malcolm. It was almost as if he'd given this talk before. "Nothing would be gained by dragging him or you sister to Kinloch Hold."

"But it's your duty, they're apostates."

"Sister, what's wrong with you?" cried Carver.

"Well, it's true!" she snapped right back. "He could be making this whole thing up. I'm supposed to believe a templar is helping a family of mages out of the goodness of his heart?"  

"Smart girl," Ser Bryant chuckled. "You're right to be cautious, and I have nothing to relieve you of it. All I can offer you is the means to help yourself."

"But why? Why are you doing this?"

He snorted. "I suppose I could tell you I have much bigger problems than a few trained and well behaved mages, and that I'd rather not waste the time and energy."

"How very considerate of you," Malcolm chided right back.

"But I will tell you this. I know the Order has to change. Perhaps one day it won't exist at all. I can only do so much on my own, but I believe if any one person takes what steps they can, do what good they can, those small actions will amount to something far greater in the future."

"That's all well and good, Ser Bryant, but let's not pretend we're doing them a kindness."

"No, we're not, but surely better to help children face the world than to tell them sweet lies so that they're lost and confused when they're older."

"That's true, I just... wish it didn't have to be this way."

"I understand. I'll do what I can about inspection rotation. Maker be willing, you can live out your days in Lothering with no problems, and this will remain a precaution."

"Wouldn't that be nice, children? To stay in one place, no fleeing into the night? Keeping all your friends?"

"I would like that very much," said Judith. Even in the distance and darkness, Bethany could see the light in her sister's eyes, the reluctant but slowly budding hope blooming from her.

It was not present within Carver. He shrunk in the shadows, sniffling. "I don't know, I can't," he said.

"Don't you want to protect Father and Bethany?" said Judith defensively.

"I do!" he barked back.

"I don't think you do!"

"Well, you're not always right! I, I'll do it! I'll take it and be a warrior, stronger than everyone, especially you!"

"Oh Carver," Malcolm's voice crumbled as he knelt down and hugged his son. "I'm sorry, so sorry."     

 

 ***

   

The group came towards a great canyon that split the forest wide open. It was a vein of grassy cliffs and trickling streams, edged with weathered stone and low mountains. A wall of luminous light was wedged in the opening, invisible until they stood in front it, a gentle whirring sound as it radiated energy. It stretched across the horizon, like a giant spider web, hanging from every cliff and treetop.

 

"Here it is, our first roadblock," said Isabela. "Didn't think it'd happen so soon."

"Oh? And what does that make the horrible walking trees we faced earlier?" said Fenris.

"I'd say those were more of a detour than a roadblock."

Fenris chuckled. "Fair enough, although this may cause us to take yet another detour."

"This barrier spreads too far out," said Hawke. "We can't just go around it."

"And this may mean that apostate the knight commander spoke of is very much alive, yes?" said Sebastian. "Who knows what could happen in the time it'd take us to navigate around?"

"She must be very powerful to erect such a large barrier," said Bethany as she walked closer, examining its clear surface. She brought her hand to it, just grazing the surface with her fingertips, but enough that the wall rippled against her touch. "Even so, it must be draining her. If she's nearby with the captured templars, we'd be at a great advantage."

"I can break it," said Hawke, quick and cold.

Bethany's head rattled, unnerved. "Wh, what? With your powers?"

"Yes. I've been training harder."

"Oh sister," she sighed. "When are you not training? I thought... those abilities, with the lyrium, they were just a last resort for you."

"I don't like to rely on it, but it's effective against demons."

"And mages."

"Bethany, it's not..."

"Anyway, that won't be necessary. I can dispel it. You should save your strength for this Uma person, if that is where this is leading." 

Bethany unhooked her staff from her belt and gripped the handle tight. A faint glowing energy beamed from her hands and twisted through the knots of the wooden staff. With its pointed end, she tapped on the barrier. Against this invading force, it wriggled and warped, like shallow water being boiled by searing heat. The disturbance flashed through the wall, its thin surface coming undone in strips of steam. It crossed over rocks and trees, but left them undamaged as if the barrier was never there at all. Bethany's dispelling magic split and split again, until rivers of it coursed throughout, covering more area, until none was left of the wall but dwindling white smoke.

"Well done, sister. You're as strong as ever."

"The Circle did teach me a few things."

"And how are they treating you there? Everything all right?"

"I'm fine, although I won't pretend it's nice to be away for a while."

Hawke frowned, unconvinced. "Is that all? Bethany, if there's something or someone making you uncomfortable, I'm sure I can..."

"I have no illusions having the Champion as my sister has helped. But it's still the Circle, I had some idea of what I was in for when Knight Captain Cullen came for me. I won't lie to you, sister, and say it's always pleasant, but I am managing."

"I'm sorry. It's my hope that, by helping the Knight Commander, gaining her favor and trust, I can change things and she won't interfere."

"Oh Judith," Bethany sighed. "Always wanting to do the right thing, the right way."

"You don't think it can be done?"

"I know you'll do your best, but I don't know if any real change can come so long as Meredith is in charge."

"Meredith is not the Viscount. Kirkwall is not her city."

"No, but the last Viscount who opposed her, she killed."

"I'm not afraid of her."

"Just... don't get yourself killed trying to change the world. Don't be like..." Bethany caught herself but swallowed down her last words. "Just be careful."

"I will."

"Anyway, things have been a lot better without that awful Ser Alrik. I'm grateful for that much."

"Yes, you mentioned him in your letters. He was a dreadful man."

"May I assume you had some part in his death?"

Hawke flinched. "Being a templar is a dangerous profession. They may go after apostates and never come back, as we know."

"You don't need to hide it from me. You're terrible at it, anyway. Ella told me you saved her. And that there was a man, a mage, who glowed and killed Alrik and his men without remorse..."

Hawke hung her head low. "It wasn't pretty, Anders... Justice took over. I managed to talk him down, he almost killed Ella. But Ser Alrik was way out of line."

"I understand, sister, and I thank you. Ella is a sweet girl and she's doing better, but you can't keep towing the line between vigilante and upstanding noble."

"You realize I don't always save mages from templars. Sometimes I do just as I'm asked."

"I do. I studied alongside Feynriel for some time. I just mean... please be careful."

"And you, as well."

"I will... it's probably for the best Anders didn't come. I was dreading all the things he'd say to me for being in the Circle."

Hawke veered slightly to the side to mark another tree, but she kept her head tilted towards her sister, to let her know she was still listening. "He and I are not on the best of terms, either, so it's just as well." 

Bethany forced a chuckle. "When were you and Anders ever on good terms?"

"Hey now, I am always civil."

"I'm surprised Varric didn't come. He was always by your side before, but he seemed quick to see us all off. Nothing happened, did it?"

"I'm... not sure," said Hawke.

Seeing the uneasy curl of Hawke's mouth, Isabela inserted herself between the sisters. "You know how Varric is," she said. "He was going on about some bet at the Hanged Man before we left. Probably couldn't bear to walk away from a card game or the chance to go on about some half-true tale. And you know he cringes when so much as a grain of sand scuffs his boot."

Bethany laughed. "Oh, of course, you're probably right."

"Not to mention avoiding the Merchant's Guild," added Fenris.

"That's right. Hard to remember he actually has a job."

"Luckily for you and Hawke, the rest of us have no jobs and are waiting for your beck and call!" cheered Isabela.  

 "Excuse you, Isabela," Sebastian swept in with a smirk, "I happen to be merely in between career paths."

"Oh, do forgive me for not specifying your unusual predicament, Your Highness," Isabela jested with rolling eyes and theatrical fluttering fingers.

"Actually, the proper way to address me would be Your Serene Highness."

Fenris snorted, Isabela pouted. "I'll be sure to correct myself if and when you get your land back."

"Then I promise to refer to you as Captain, if and when you get a ship."

Fenris's snort burst into full blown laughter. Bethany giggled softly through the hand clasped over her mouth.

"Ugh, fine, you win this round. Consider yourself lucky I'm so tired. Hawke, are we going to set up camp soon? We've been walking through this bloody forest all day."

"There's a few hours of daylight yet," Hawke said sternly. "It could be the difference between life and death for those templars."

"We don't all have your stamina," she groaned. "Could we at least take a break? I think those sylvans gave me splinters I need to pluck out."

Hawke sighed. "I suppose it was too much to hope we'd find them right away. Those monsters and the barrier gave me hope they were nearby, strangely enough."

"We have to accept this could be a salvage mission, not a rescue," said Fenris. "Through no fault of our own."

"No, I could have set out earlier. If there's a chance I could save them, a chance I threw away due to my own sloth..."

"We needed time to prepare, Hawke."

"Fenris and Isabela are right," said Sebastian. "We're no use to anyone unready or overly fatigued."

"Very well. Point made, everyone," said Hawke. "Next clearing we see, we'll set up camp. But we're back on trail at sunup." 

 

Later that evening, as daylight receded behind the cliffs, Bethany set up her neat little corner of camp. She batted out bits of debris from her blanket when she heard her sister in the distance. She watched Hawke sigh in relief, and spoke to Isabela, Fenris, and Sebastian, softly with an approving nod. She couldn't quite make out the words, only tired mumbles, but she herself was too tired to ask or intrude.


	13. She Came Back

Chapter Thirteen: She Came Back

 

Sebastian remembered the last time the group was mostly together like this. It was when the qunari tried to take over the city. It had only been a few months since the attack, and he could only remember in hurried blinks, but the intensity and panic of that night remained clear.

He remembered giving the evening sermon to an unusually sparse crowd. No doubt people were unnerved from the deaths that took place in what was supposed to be a sanctuary. Still he had failed to alleviate their anxieties, to assure them they had nothing to fear as long as love for the Maker remained in their hearts. He remembered the stiff look of disappointment Elthina gave him, before the panicked mobs shot through the halls and flooded every corner of the building, a line of templars and city guards barring the doors.

He was seeing to some of the citizens that had been injured along the way when Fenris came in, leading Orana by the hand, Bohdan and Sandal following. Fenris explained to him what happened at the compound and that the two of them needed to regroup with Hawke. Sebastian looked for Elthina, lost in the crowd, unsure if she would approve of him leaving, when he could still be of use in the Chantry.

And he had remembered he and Hawke had not spoken since she lost her mother days ago. As far as he knew, she still didn't want to look at him, much less have him fight at her side again. But Fenris said, "She needs us," and that was all he needed to hear. They braved the bloodied streets together.

Hawke hardly said anything, mostly grunts and signaling orders. With the assistance of Meredith and her templars, Orsino and his mages (including one powerful Enchanter Sebastian swore he'd seen before, but couldn't afford to give it any more thought), the lot of them cleared Hightown with ease. Yet at times he felt Hawke would be doing just as well alone. Like a walking suit of armor, flesh and fear hollowed out of its shell, leaving only the ability to fight. He knew he and the others did their part, but in his memory, the would-be invaders fell in drove at a single swing of her sword.

 

His memory blinked to the end of the line, when Hawke and the Arishok dueled for Isabela's fate. Everyone circled around, leaving a wide girth for the two warriors to fight. He remembered the wide eyes and clasped hands over mouths of all the nobles holes up in the Keep. He remembered Isabela chewing her lip, hating being so helpless in determining her own life. Sebastian tried to reassure her, that Hawke would see her safe, but it didn't do much to calm her.

He remembered the Arishok having at least a head over Hawke, who was quite tall and statuesque for human standards. He wielded two massive axes, the air itself seemed to shudder with the power of every swing. But Hawke had always been precise, and patient. She waited for her opening, and her blade scathed across his arm between motions. With a deep, rumbling shout of pain, the Arishok batted the other arm, and the axe cleaved into her, a screaming scratch into her armor. She tumbled across the Keep's carpeted floor, and the Enchanter from before cried out in anguish.

"No, sister!"

She stepped inside the circle, about to enter this makeshift arena, but Fenris tugged her back. "You must not interfere," he said, "the fight will be forfeit, they will take Isabela."

"I'm sorry," the Enchanter sobbed, stepping back from the circle and throwing her hands over her face. "But she's my sister. She's all I have left."

Reliving the memory, he realized why he focused so much on the Enchanter. Looking back, it should have been obvious she was Hawke's sister, she even said so. But he just remembered her crying, with a backdrop of harsh thuds and screeching steel. When he saw Hawke topple over, his vision had blurred, random sounds and the sight of her struggling to get up, were blotted from his memory. He knew he must have prayed for her safety, begging Andraste to lend her strength so that Hawke could get up. But the exact verse used was muted in his mouth, just mumbling lips and a refusal to look back up.

 

There was one last shudder as silence fell in the Keep. Even the Enchanter held back her sobs. Sebastian still couldn't look up, but he heard the Arishok say, in a blood-dribbling and ominous voice, "We shall return," before the splash of a sword plunging into flesh. Then the Knight Commander made Hawke Champion and everyone cheered. Hawke still didn't say anything.

 

Sebastian didn't hear her speak until the crowd was thinning out, people were returning to their homes. She was arguing with Isabela.

 

"You think it's that simple?" he heard Hawke say, her voice cold and curt. "You want to be rewarded for finally doing the right thing?"

"I didn't say that. I just want to know what you want me to say. I already apologized, I came back with the book. You don't have to thank me, but you could at least look me in the eye."

"Yes, Maker forbid you feel guilty about something for half a day. That you should live with the things you've done!"

"Are you so petty that you want to force me to feel bad? I know what I did was wrong, all right? There's nothing more I can do!"

Sebastian remembered the trembling of Isabela's voice. She was hurt, and Hawke was as unmoving as a stone wall when she was mad enough. He thought to try and intervene, when Aveline inserted herself first.

"Hawke, I never thought I'd side with Isabela against you, but it's done. Let's be grateful she came back before--"

"Oh, shut up," Hawke barked, turning her searing gaze at the guard captain. "This is just as much your fault as it is hers."

"What? I came to--"

"I could've talked them down. I could have reasoned with them. Violence broke out because you can't control your fucking guards. One of your people takes advantage of someone, and the best you have is you'll 'look into it'? If it were my sister, I would have ripped their cocks off. And if all you had to offer me was 'looking into it', I would see you fired. Perhaps I still should. Keep the peace, that’s the one thing you’re supposed to do, and you didn’t do it!"

Aveline fell silent. Isabela backed away, choking on tears, then bolted for the door. No one saw her again for months.

    

 

***

 

Sebastian jolted from his half-awake daze, the sudden realization of his surroundings pinched his weary nerves. A dying flame gave light to the small opening of forest where they had camped. The crackling embers masked the rustle of grass and chirping of critters in the distance, the musk of smoke overpowering the crisp cool night air. He sat on a stump by the fire, his head still flopping about, trying to stay awake and upright.

 

"Rough shift, eh?" Isabela said as she walked in from behind.

"Ah, Isabela," he said, forcing himself to sit up straight, but jittering from surprise at her voice. "I was just..."

"Hey, it's all right," she said, giving him a hearty pat on the shoulder. "Not going to bust you for napping on the job. Your turn is over."

"Oh. Thank you."

"You look beat. Have a bad dream, or are you already regretting coming along with us?"

"Neither, really. Just a long day."

"Well, I regret it," she chortled. "Only came back to town a few days ago, and Hawke already has me on one of her ridiculous missions for the good of Kirkwall, or some rot."

"You don't really think that. You're a good person, I've seen it. But sometimes it can leave you vulnerable, or people can throw it back in your face. That's what makes it frightening."

"When did you get so receptive?" she laughed. "Or does being sleepy make you weirdly philosophical?"

"I'm sorry. It was not my intention to presume how you feel. I've done that with you often in the past, and that was wrong of me."

"Ah. Well that's... don't worry about it."

"No, it's not right. I've done it with you, with Fenris, Hawke..."

"Did you have a fight with her, too?"

"I did. I was with her when she went after Leandra, and her killer. I argued with her about the way she was doing things, and gave no thought as to how she felt. The last time we spoke since then was her asking me to come for the job, and even then she was clearly uncomfortable. I was such a fool, so insistent on what I thought was right. I've done that with you, as well. I talked to both of you like I was above your pain. That was not my intention, but now I see that's how I made her feel."

"That's enough self pity for one night, thanks," Isabela was silent for a while, the campfire petering out between them, her mouth scrunching uncomfortably for an answer. "Look, as someone who's known Hawke a little longer... she's stubborn. Really, really stubborn. Aveline, too, maybe it's a Ferelden thing. But unlike our guard friend, she can be reasoned with. You're only going to make things worse by avoiding the subject, it'll make her think you don't care. Just be upfront, be honest. She might be mad at first, but it'll be for the better."

"I get the feeling this is a plan for you, as well."

"Maybe. Who knew being a good friend was so hard, eh?"

"I can't say I do. I didn't have many friends before meeting all of you."

"What? No noble children confided to a room while the adults had their fun? That's what some of my husband's friends did."

"That did happen, but even then, my brothers got all the attention. At best I had people at my side when I offered to buy them drinks with my parents' money, but when the guards came to drag me back, they were nowhere to be found." 

"Not to nitpick, but didn't you joining us start with you paying Hawke?"

Sebastian chuckled. "It did indeed, although I like to think we're past that. I have been coming along on all these journeys of Hawke's for free, after all."

"Well, you are a prince. Probably a whole castles of gold waiting for you... if you decide that's what you want."

Sebastian didn't have an answer, and shuddered. "It's okay, I won't press," she said, immediately picking up on his discomfort. "It's your life, your decision."

 

"Thank you, Isabela."  

"You know, for all our differences, I always thought you were sweet. I'm sure it'll work out between you two."

"And between the two of us?"

"I still say you have nothing to be sorry for. You've never actually tried to bring me to the light or whatever, so it's fine. It's been nice seeing you again."

"And you as well. I'm glad you came back to Kirkwall, although... will you tell me why you returned, after everything that happened?"

"I heard they got some cute new people at the Blooming Rose." Isabela smirked at her own joke, but Sebastian shook his head at her, and she sighed. "It's a few things, if you must know. I still don't have a ship, Kirkwall is a big docking town, and working Hawke is far and away my biggest source of legitimate income. On top of all that... you have to stop seeing things like a straight line. That's never been how I wanted to live my life. Just like the seas connect, I'm bound to pass through the same cities again, maybe find something new. I might even go back to Ferelden one day. You like Wardens, don't you? Did I ever tell you I met the Hero of Ferelden?"

Sebastian's eyes widened, a stark glow that popped in the dark like blue fireflies.

"That got your attention, huh? Not much of a story, though. There I was having a grand old time in the Pearl in Denerim, when this dwarf woman comes clomping in. She wasn't like Varric at all, she must have been from Orzammar, maybe a noble. We played a game of Wicked Grace and she got so frustrated when I beat her, she flipped over the table."   

"How awful!"

"Eh, I've dealt with worse sore losers. She had this woman with her, orange hair, think she was Orlesian. She calmed her down and they were on their way. Found out later she stopped the Blight. It was oddly comforting to have seen her as a real person, with her own problems and shortcomings."

"It is inspiring, when you look at it that way. Like anyone could do it."

"Maybe not anyone, but it doesn't seem so impossible."

"Thank you for sharing that with me."

"No problem. Not much of a story, but probably more than you would have gotten out of Anders. Now get some sleep. You've only got a few hours. Don't want to get a wrinkle on that pretty face."

"Could have said the same to you. Tease," Sebastian chuckled as he walked away.

"That's me. Now off with you, already, you'll distract my ever-vigilant watch."

 


	14. The Beast

Chapter Fourteen: The Beast

 

The Hawke Estate was bigger than Isabela remembered. She walked through the spacious hall, fingers firmly clutched around the long neck of a bottle of wine. She passed door after door, every space of wall decked with armor or a portrait of a relative Hawke would never know.

Hawke always seemed like a practical person, she thought, why would she need so many bloody rooms for? Then she reminded herself it was probably Lowtown making her think this place was bigger than it actually was; crammed apartments, people stacked together in stone and tar, with only the faintest whiff of sea salt to remind them there was an outside world.

 

"Pardon me, messere," said Orana, the sudden squeak of her voice giving Isabela a shock. "May I help you with something? Are you lost? The ceremony will be starting soon, it's in the other direction."

Isabela remembered, seeing Orana's face, Hawke was not the only one living in this big house. "Sorry, got a bit distracted," she said. "Although I was looking for your, um, boss? Nobody's seen her. She's the host, after all."

Orana looked down, her mouth scrunched. "Mistress, um, Judith is not feeling well. She asked the wedding start without her, and she'll join in when she can."

"She did? But this is her house. She's the reason Aveline and Donnic even got together, we can't start without her. Is she sick or something?"

"She feels unwell, yes. I was going to make something to settle her stomach. Maybe you could keep her company while I finish?"

"Please do. I've been meaning to talk to her."

 

Orana gingerly placed her hand over Isabela's and lead her through the hall, turned a corner, and up to the door of a dressing room.

 

"How is... working for Hawke, if I may ask?" Isabela asked as they walked.

"Judith is very kind," said Orana. "She makes me feel safe. A lot of times she does things alone, and then I don't know what to do with myself. But then she'll invite me to join and I feel better."

"Oh? What sorts of things?"

"She cooks and chops firewood and sews torn clothes, she says she did that a lot in her old home and it's hard to stop. She taught me a lot of Ferelden dishes. They're very strange, not always that flavorful, but very filling. I added some things to it, and she said I was brilliant."

"I wouldn't let it get to your head, I've seen Hawke down three bowls of Mystery Stew at the Hanged Man," she shuddered at the very mention of the dish. "But I'm glad you're doing all right."

"Thank you. She's... she's in here." Orana poked her head through a crack in the door and spoke softly. "Judith? Are you feeling any better? You have a visitor."

There was silence for a stretched moment, so long it made Isabela shrug. In that moment, she remembered why this house was so big. It was meant for a family.

Eventually an answer emerged from the room. "It's all right, come in."

Orana cracked the door open a little more and walked back the way she came. Isabela took a quick gulp of the wine, tried to shake off all the bumping nerves with one last shudder, painted on her best smile, and entered.

"Ah, there you are! The wedding's about to start. Come on, we can head back together."

Hawke was leaning against the window sill, muscled arm shaking in support of her slumped body. Her dark brown hair was in shambles, longs threads of it hanging over her face. "Is it really time already? I thought I had another hour."

"Sorry, Hawke, but everyone's gathered. We really should go, the big girl probably can't stand being in a dress for that long. I'm not exactly loving it myself."

"Very well. Let me just..." Hawke tried to throw the weight of her body back onto her feet, but her legs wobbled and she fell backward into a chair.

"Oh no, you really are sick."

"No, I'm fine, I just need a moment to recollect myself."

"Maybe a little drink would help?" she held up the wine bottle with a playful shake, so Hawke could here the swill inside. "I knew I was going to need a little to get me through this. Looks like you could use some, too."

"It's not that, I just. I just..." A sharp shiver traveled from Hawke's feet to the ends of her broad shoulders.      

"I'm sorry, Hawke, but you look like bloody death. I won't force you to come out, but it'll only be a few moments." She stepped inside, seeing a basin and pitcher. "Here, you can wash up a little, I'll fix your hair, you'll be just like new."

"Isabela, please," said Hawke. "I'm not a child."

"No one said you were. We all have those days, you know? Sometimes several in a row. I know I do."

A lump in Hawke's throat made her convulse. "I'm fine, I'm fine," she said between gags, her voice scraped dry.

Isabela twitched at the sudden throb in Hawke's voice. She grabbed the basin and brought it underneath Hawke's chin. Before she could force out another "I'm fine," she vomited. She tried to speak through dribbling lips, but her voice was a garbled mess of whines and sobs.

"Shh, don't try to talk, just let it out," she cooed, stroking Hawke's back. "You'll feel better when it's all out."

"I don't, I, don't want you to see me this way."

"Please, I've seen Varric lose his meals more times than I can count. Fenris too, once. He was such a baby about it." She waited through a small fit of gagging, until Hawke had emptied herself out, then dabbed a cloth against her face. "There, that wasn't so bad."

"I'm sorry. I just..."

"There's no time for explanations, we have a wedding to get to. You still look fine, let's just fix up your hair and go."

Hawke buried her face in the cloth as Isabela took some pins from underneath her bandana and placed back all the fallen strands of hair.    

"This is going to sound silly, but I think a good cry or a good puking is a good thing. Just to get it all out, you know? Anyway, this is the best I can do in such short notice."

"Thank you," Hawke said, her voice shaking but sincere as she looked at herself in the mirror. "You know, I always thought your hair was so pretty."

"Aww, come on now. It's supposed to be the bride who blushes today."

"I mean it, Isabela. You're really beautiful."

"I..." a tingle spread across Isabela's nose. She laughed at the fact that she actually was blushing. "  

 

***

 

Isabela's had knocked back and jerked her into consciousness. She threw herself off her slumped nigth watch before her body completely toppled over. The fire had died in her sleep, awash with a shifting, silvery mist. Confused at the sight, her eyes wandered and found the whole campsite was covered in it.

"Balls, how long did I doze off?" she cussed to herself. Carefully placing one foot in front of the other, she walked to where she thought the others were sleeping, hoping that they still were and her minor offense of sleeping on the job wuold go unnoticed. She passed a tree, then another, passed through a few bushes, but only found more mist. "I could have sworn it was here," she said. "Or was it...? No, no that tree doesn't look familiar. Bah, who am I kidding? They all look the same to me. Still, I was able to see them sleeping from where I was sitting. They couldn't have left without me, could they?"

"Isabela!" Merrill cried. Without any concern of the fog, she ran towards Isabela, embracing her upon impact. "Thank the Creators! I thought I had gotten myself lost! I've never gone this far in the Marches without my clan or without Hawke and I'm not really familiar with the area beyond--"

"It's okay, kitten, neither am I," said Isabela softly. "Wait, you're not with the others?"

"No! I woke up and I was all by myself."

"As was I," said Fenris as he emerged from a curtain of mist to the side of them. "Our campsite was cleared, as if the other three woke up and left. Hawke would not have abandoned us. The forest is playing games with us. No doubt she and the others are also lost."

"Isn't that just peachy," groaned Isabela. "She did tell us to stay put if we got separated. Worse comes to worse, I could use the stars to guide us back to Kirkwall." Isabela looked up. The trees seemed to have grown, their tips stretching upwards like green hands reaching for the heavens. What little of the sky she could see through the canopy was patchy and grey, only shreds of sunlight piercing through a foggy shell. "That's not reassuring. But it's still morning. Or I think it is."     

"At our last gathering, another clan spoke of a similar forest," said Merrill. "The Brecilian Forest, in Ferelden. Elves lived there even before the days of Arlathan, but it had seen so much death since then. Older human groups fought with the Imperium, too. It made the Veil thin, and many people would get lost within, never to return. And there were sylvans there, too!"

"The Imperium has stained much of the Free Marches, obviously," said Fenris. "The Planasene was an early tribe of humans who once lived in this place. We may be walking through what was once their village."

"Okay, so we have some idea of what's going on and why," said Isabela. "But what about getting out?"

"I think we should do as Hawke instructed and remain where we are," said Fenris. "Otherwise we will only get ourselves more lost."

Merrill shook her head. "I don't think Hawke will find us, and I don't think we'll be able to find them."

Fenris's thick brow furrowed, his voice dredged in disdain. "Do you think yourself so powerful you can undo all this and finish the mission yourself?"

"I did not say that," said Merrill, standing her ground. "What was done here was so long ago, the magic here is... deep rooted. If there are spirits frequenting this forest, being rid of them might help, but I think it might be best to just find a way out."

"I will not leave Hawke, Bethany, and Sebastian behind. Go back to Kirkwall if you must."

"I did not mean..."

"What DID you mean, witch?"

"Hey, hey, that's enough!" Isabela declared, inserting herself between the two elves. She kept her voice steady and smooth. "Let's just calm down. We're of no use to anyone panicking. Now, we shouldn't just up and leave, that's true, but we're also not in a place where Hawke and the others could easily find us. Merrill, we're not in the Fade, right?"

"Yes. I mean, no, no as in we're not in the Fade."

"Then east is still east, and I can lead us there. I say, we go back to where Bethany took down that barrier. It's not that far back, and significant enough Hawke would think to look for us."

"Are we to give upon rescuing these templars entirely then?" said Fenris. "And what of this mage that still may have ensnared them?"

"We... may need to count our losses here. They were already out here for a few days. Maybe they got lost and got attacked by some possessed creature, or starved. I say we let Hawke decide when we regroup. I guess, if she wants to try again, we just... can't go to sleep. Or we'll have to be more careful with our watch shifts."

Fenris's brow and mouth scrunched in tandem, but eventually he conceded. "I do not like this, but this place is unsettling, and I have no alternative."

"Then it's settled, we head back east."

The three walked back the way they came, through the walls of trees and fog. Isabela kept looking up, hoping for the sun or some stars to tear through the swirl of clouds, some force of the natural world to pierce this barrier of old, unknown magic. But as they continued, no outside power seemed strong enough to reach them. She clutched her compass and hoped it was enough.     

 


	15. The Intruder

Chapter Fifteen: The Intruder

 

The fields were threaded with gold against the evening sunlight, a huge expanse of grain wavering against a mild summer breeze. As the sun hung just behind the mountains in the distance, Bethany watched the sleepy village of Lothering pack itself in for the evening. The tanner, the smiths, the sisters and the chanters, Elder Miriam, old farmer Barlin. She knew them all, and they knew her. They waved to her from the hilltop as they crossed the dirt road beneath, back to their homes. A few went to the inn, and she could hear the hearty laughter and clanks of glasses in the distance.

 

When she waved to the last person, she walked the other way. She hummed as the cooling winds fluttered against her hair and her dress. When she found Carver slumped against a tree, she pouted.

 

"Hey, lazy bones," she said. "We have to head home, it's nearly nightfall."

Carver, clearly awake but stubborn, clenched his eyelids and turned his side. "Hey!" she cried, gently tapping his exposed back with the tip of her toes. "We need to help with supper, then you can sleep all you want."

"Fine," he said, heaving and huffing upward like his body was as heavy as metal. "Was having a great dream and you ruined it. I was a great hero and all of Ferelden was having a parade in my honor."

"So you were dreaming about being someone else?"

"That's not funny," Carver growled.

"I'm sorry, brother, but you know Mother will send a search party if we're not back soon."

"I know, I know," he said as he began walking.

"Was I in the dream at all?"

"I think so. There were some ladies all dressed in frills, and happy. Maybe it was you and Mother."

"Aww, so you do care for us."

"You're impossible... wait, is that father?"

 

From atop the hill, the twins could see the winding road that connected the Imperial Highway to the village. It forked between the heart of the village and the farms on the outer rim, where modest twig and mud-laden houses overlooked the fields. Their house was the farthest away.   

The twins watched two figures walk the road, hit the fork, and take the second path to the fields. One of them was tall and broad-shouldered, so it must have been their father. But the second person bore no resemblance to anyone they knew.

 

By the time they were down the hill, the two had already entered their house. When they approached, they could already hear talking. When they entered, there was silence. Malcolm and Leandra both looked at their children like they had walked in on something they shouldn't have. Between them stood a stranger, a young man in ragged clothes, short brown hair, and tired eyes. Their sister Judith was sitting at the table, looking away with cold indifference to the scene as she continued peeling potatoes.

 

"Oh, there you two are!" said Malcolm, quickly recovering from the awkward shock and lacing his words with an enthusiastic tone. "You're just in time to meet Odran. He'll be staying with us for a while."

Leandra nearly choked. "Assuming we have space and extra food," she said, "which we do not."

"Is he from the Circle?" said Bethany. "You are a mage, right?"

"Goodness, she didn't even have to think about it," said Odran.

"You're still wearing a robe, or what's left of it. The Circle makes mages wear them."

"And you smell like lyrium," added Carver, his nose crinkling. "Lyrium and garbage."

"Such quick-witted children." He walked towards little Bethany and smiled, glassy eyes glinting. He had a wiry beard around his square jaw. He might have been handsome had he not looked so weary. "I am indeed a mage, just like you. From Kinloch Hold. It's actually rather close, I was surprised to find more apostates, living here of all places."

"Call it hiding in plain sight," said Malcolm. "Too small and too insignificant for anyone to care. You'll be safe here. The bann couldn't care less, the templars rarely pass through, and the villagers are very kind..."

"So let me see if I understand," said Judith, jamming her peeling knife into the table so that everyone would stop and witness her anger. "Me joining the King's army and making decent money would be too big a risk, but bringing in more mages while we can barely feed ourselves is perfectly fine?"

Malcolm's uneven smile slowly came apart, twitching in shock. "Judith, we've talked about... what's gotten into you?"

"Common sense, I should think," said Leandra. "I'm sorry, Ser mage. I sympathize, I truly do, but we simply can't..."

"I understand," said Odran with a relaxed smile, eyes calm despite all the tension in the bags underneath. "Malcolm has already done more than enough helping me avoid the templars. I had been planning my escape so long, I didn't think much of when I'd actually be out. I can be on my way, and figure things out as I go. I suspect that's what you all did, eh?"

"Wait," said Malcolm. His looked around, seeing the unhappy faces looking back at him. Then he looked to the twins, shrinking in the corner, unsure of what was going on and unsure of what to do. "Bethany, Carver... would you two mind going to the well and fetching some water? The grown-ups need to talk in private for a bit, and this man could use a drink." 

The twins nodded and ran out of the house, but were slow to return, hearing muffled arguments behind them.

 

***

 

"Sister, I don't think you're going to find anything," said Bethany as she watched her sister inspect the bark of another tree, only to find it untouched, same as the tree before.

"But I was careful," said Hawke. "I'm certain I marked a nearby tree before we stopped for camp. It can't just not be there."

"Surely Fenris and the other wouldn't just wander off," said Sebastian. "Could they have been... taken?"

Hawke's eyes slowly lifted in shock, such an idea had not occurred to her. But she shook her head to keep herself grounded. "No, no, that cannot be. Why take only them? You saw the camp, the bags were all put away, no signs of a struggle. As if they woke up, cleaned up, and left. But that makes even less sense. And if someone had intruded on our camp, Gallant would have alerted me."

 

All three looked to the mabari, who appeared as troubled as they were. Like his partner, he inspected every tree, and growled when he found nothing familiar.

 

"It's as if the whole forest smells different than it did last night," said Hawke.

"Sister," said Bethany, "I believe we must consider the very real chance magic is at work here."

"As in... are we in the Fade?"

"No, but as Merrill said, the Veil is very thin here. I don't think we'll be able to find Merrill, Isabela, and Fenris through normal means."

"Do you think they're in immediate danger?"

"No more than we are, I suspect."

"Could this be what caused the templars to lose their way?" said Sebastian. "Perhaps there is no melificar trapping them. They are simply lost?"

"Yes, that could be it!" Bethany cheered, a bit of blush blooming in her face. "That was very astute of you, Sebastian."

"While that could mean the templars are in no immediate danger," said Hawke, "it also means we're now in as much danger as they are. Lost in a forest that defies logic, and if the Veil is thin, demons could be lurking."

"The magic in this forest may turn us around, but we are still in the mortal world. North is still north, south still south. I think we should press onward, and I can try to clear a path once we've rescued the templars."

"Very well," said Hawke. Her face was creased with worry, but she held her head up, clutching at her sword, reading to take point and lead into the murky unknown. "Let us return to the task at hand, and pray our friends keep safe while awaiting rescue."

"Fenris and the others are plenty capable," said Sebastian. "I'm sure they will be fine on their own for a time. Perhaps Merrill even reached the same conclusion."


	16. Cry for Help

Chapter Sixteen: Cry for Help

 

Wooden swords clacked in rapid succession. Fenris felt sweat run along his cheek, the harder breaths scraping his dry throat. Still the hits came coming. He was cornered, and Hawke was relentless. He raised his blade in defense, but she met with a swift counter every time, swatting at his stance as if he was a bothersome fly.

 

"I yield," he said, knowing the wall of the barracks courtyard was at his back. In spite of his defeat, he could not help but laugh. "Had I known you would be such a ruthless sparring partner, I would have asked Aveline, instead."

Hawke slowly lowered her sword, as if expecting he was faking surrender and readying a surprise attack. She wiped the sweat from her brow and sighed with rattled breath. Her gaze was cold; she was not nearly as amused. "Perhaps you would be more inclined to listen to Aveline if she told you to stay grounded? Your footing is all wrong, I thought we've been over this."

"My apologies, Hawke. I meant nothing by it, and I heed your advice. It must be the heat that's making me lose my concentration."

"Heat nothing. You have to keep your focus, even in the worst of conditions. Are you ready to try again?"

"No," he said. He leaned backwards until his back slapped against the wall. It was cooled by the shdow of an overhanging tree, and it soothed his sweltered shoulder blades. He looked up at Hawke, saw her face furrowed with tension with a thin coating of sweat. From the angel he sat, her eyes were almost invisible, hidden in slicked, loose hanging bangs. He patted the free space of shade next to him. "Let's sit a while? Take a break?"

"I don't understand," said Hawke, desperately trying to keep her hair out of her face, combing it back so hard it could almost rip out. "Now you want to take it easy?"

"I only wish to rest a while. Have I offended?"

"After what happened with Hadriana, you could barely look at me. You spoke of the hate that plagues you, then you walked away. I thought training might give you some peace of mind, but you don't seem to want that, either. What is it that you want from me?"

"I want nothing from you but a friend. That is what you offered, is it not?"

Hawke sighed, exasperated. Every frown creased deeper, every anxious pace Htook longer. For as long as he had known her, Hawke was always collected and logical. They both shared a quiet intensity, something that helped them get along so famously, and something both Varric and Isabela would playfully mock them for. But Fenris always thought hers was a softer, calmer, quite. A serenity, even, that he had hoped to reach someday. But here in the barracks, heaving in a drenched tunic, flailing a wooden sword, she looked like she was melting.     

"It is," she finally answered. "But what if Danarius comes, or sends more hunters? What if I'm not there to help you?"

"I am capable of fending for myself."

"I know that, but every time hunters come, they're always in great numbers. You need to have some plan for the worst outcome, and you need to be ready."

Unnerved by her words, Fenris stood up and faced her. He swept his sword off the ground, stretched his limber limbs, and took a deep breath, hoping to air out the tension pinching at his muscles. He waited for Hawke to nod, and he swung for her.

"Would you have me spend the rest of my life in constant anxiety?" he grunted between lashes. "To fear my own shadow?"

"I never said that," said Hawke, her defense as blunt and rigid as her counters, the wood of her sword snapping like like bones against boulders.

"But that is all your plan entails. For me to live in fear."

"For you to be cautious! There is a difference. You were so scared and angry when Hadriana's hunters came, and you were right to be, but..."

"If you're still upset that I took it out on you..."

"It's not that, but don't you want to take steps that it doesn't happen again?"

A surge of energy burst through Fenris, and his sword tapped against Hawke's in a series of lightning lunges. Hawke blocked them with concise, stern motions, like she saw every swing coming. But he was always the faster fighter.

"And what am I to do against a Magister and all the hired hands his coin can buy?" he said, frustrated but allowing himself a gritted smile as he finally cut through Hawke's defense. "I know what is at stake here, Hawke, and it's on my mind constantly." Another whooshing slash, with all his strength siphoned into the swing. Green eyes glinted at the right moment, when the opening came. "But you can't expect me to live this way."

It wasn't enough. Hawke recovered from her opening and swung before it could be exploited. She blocked, then lunged with a force so quick it threw Fenris onto the ground.

"If not for your own sake," she said with a rattled voice, "then for mine. Give me some peace of mind. I'm not asking you to live in fear, but apart from storming Minrathous and killing Danarius myself, this is the only way I can keep you safe."

Fenris sat on the sandy floor, backside aching. He looked up at her, and his heart dropped in his hollowed chest, seeing the long shadow she cast. The dark, dripping distance in her face made him shiver in the blazing heat. He had to collect breath and bravery to speak up to her again.

"I have asked no such thing of you, Hawke," he finally said. "This is my life."

"You 're... impossible," Hawke's stern face split apart, after barely holding it together for the whole of their fight. Like a sudden fissure in the solid earth, every firm feature cracked, leaving a barren, broken countenance. "Why won't you just let me help you, Carver?"

Hawke gasped the moment that name left her lips. She tried to swallow it back down her throat and lock it away in her gut, but the name had already spread, melding with the particles of air. She and Fenris were already inhaling and exhaling the name.

"Your brother?" Fenris asked, his voice soft with caution.

"I'm sorry," Hawke blurted out, her snap response as quick as the drop of her sword and her sharp turn in the other direction. A faint, "I have to go," followed her as she marched away.

 

***

 

Fenris felt the earth shift beneath his feet. He, Isabela, and Merrill had walked through the forest, back the way they came. His eyes scoured every tree for one of Hawke's markings, or some sign of her or the others, but every tree looked the same to him, and bare. The mist persisted, rings hazy of silver around their ankles, obscuring their path. Though he could not see it, the land slanted ever upward, stressing the strain of his legs as he walked.

 

"This cannot be the right way," he said once he was sure of it. "We're going uphill. There was no hill the way we came."

"Wasn't there a big canyon?" said Merrill. "If we had passed it, I'm sure I would have fallen into it by now."

"I know," Isabela groaned, defeated. "This doesn't look familiar at all, what little I can see with this damned fog. But I know Kirkwall is east, and I know we're going in that direction. Surely if we keep going east, we'll eventually hit it, right?"

"Or maybe we'll pass it altogether and go all the way to Orlais."

"Ugh, don't even joke like that," Isabela snorted, nearly choking on her laughter. "I think I'd rather deal with the demons or whatever's the cause of this."

"I'm so sorry. I thought we could simply leave, that that would be the practical thing to do, but it's only gotten us more lost." 

"Don't be sorry. Not like we had any better ideas. And what else can we do, apart from actually going into the Fade?"

"We should have stayed," said Fenris. "I don't recognize anything. Now we cannot even turn back. I should not have left Hawke's side."

"None of us meant to get separated. It'll be fine, you'll see. How big a forest can this possibly be?"

 

Fenris felt the land slant. With a frustrated groan, he took point and sprinted to the top of the hill. At the very top, there was a break in the mist, though it pooled on the other side. He squinted, trying to find something of use from the high vantage point, when whispers came from behind. His ears twitched and he turned to the others.

 

"Did you say something?"

"Not me," said Merrill.

"No," said Isabela. She walked to the hilltop and joined Fenris in careful listening. Standing next to him, the whispers came to her, too. The voices were too soft to distinguish, no words could be found.

"Who's there?" said Fenris, looking around for something to match the voices to. "Show yourselves!" he demanded. Finding nothing, he advanced down the hill, throwing himself into the wide vat of mist.

The other two lagged behind as he delved inward. Sheets of silver all around him, little flickers of light poked through. They were faint; each one a bundle of translucent pale blue light. They flowed along the mist, like fish leaping through a river.

Shocked at the sight, Fenris wielded his axe, but the spirits had no interest in him and continued floating.   

"I think they might be wraiths," said Merrill, trailing carefully behind Fenris, watching them fly past her. "Spirits tethered to this world. They're very rare. Only happens when the Veil is thin or sundered."

"Will they attack?"

"I don't think so. They've been known to dwell in living spaces, like they're trying to reenact the lives of those who lived here. They can't do what demons do, but if one's nearby, it could augment them, compel them to attack."

"Mercy," said a voice, in a soft and weepy pleading. The sudden speech made Fenris's hair stand on end, and he pressed forward, Isabela and Merrill behind him.

 

Further in, the blanket of mist tore itself in two, parting before Fenris's feet as he walked. A cold pain shot through his legs, made his skin itch. It was as if whatever magic was at work here, it reacted to his presence. Like this part of the forest was a blank canvas, quickly painted a valley a scene for him to walk through. With every step, his sight became clearer, until grass was once again flicking at his feet, and a ribbon of a river slipped through trees in the distance. Isabela and Merrill caught up to him, and rows of mud-laden houses popped out of the earth.

 

The wraiths all fled into the houses, one by one, like actors rushing to their places on a stage. "Mercy," that same weepy voice said. "Mercy for the Beast."

"Oh joy," said Isabela. "Now there's a monster involved."

"I certainly hope it's not talking about the Imperium," grunted Fenris. "For they deserve no mercy."

"But there's no city, no buildings," said Merrill. "Just the remains of this village. Doesn't look like the Tevinters won."

"True. The Planese forest is only that. I suppose the Imperium tried to overrun whoever lived here and failed, though at great cost to the people who lived here, as well."

"She knows not what she does, or what was done to her," it said. Fenris followed the voice into one of the houses, where it stayed. A smaller, white orb of light pulsed inside the wraith as it spoke, beating like a small luminous heart. "She did not choose this form. Mercy, please."

Fenris's whole face scrunched. Talking to a spirit was not something he planned on doing, and it seemed the creature was talking to itself, not him. "I don't... know what you are talking about," he said. "Can you... lead me to this... Beast?"

"I will not go," said the wraith, becoming more distressed. "And you can't take me! This is my home, you cannot do this. Spirits drive you from this place, and from your flesh!"

A gnarling growl shook the little village, and the wraiths all scattered. The matted earth trembled beneath, and howling winds ripped at the bubble of quiet the mist had created. "Stay close," said Fenris, gripping his axe again. "And keep your wits about you."

 

Isabela and Merrill mimicked Fenris with wielded weapons, and each took to one side of him. A broken wooden gate marked the end of the village, and the scratched creak of a hanging hinge followed the three as they left. Past the gate, the earth was scarred with a coarse grayness, prickled weeds and jagged stones throughout, like an unkempt graveyard. Further outward, human-shaped statues stood sentinel on the outer rim of the valley, scattered like discarded chess pieces. They wore rough hide leather and wielded wood-chopping axes, a few bows, and makeshift spears. Fenris frowned at the sight of them, and seeing perpetual expressions of horror in the stone sent hot needles of disgust into his heart. These people were not warriors. And if they knew magic, it was nothing like what the Imperium had.

"There is a great sadness here," said Merrill, looking upon the statues and wandering wraiths with watery eyes. "A demon could dwell here, feeding on it. It could be sated for a very long time."

"A pity Anders did not come. Perhaps this sit could have stifled his adoration of Tevinter."

"Let's not worry about Anders for a while, all right?" groaned Isabela. "Let's just try to focus on this. Merrill, if there's a demon here and we beat it, will the forest turn back to normal and we can get un-lost?"

"I don't think what was done here can be undone, but it should... stabilize things. At least long enough for us to get out."

The growl came again, whirring in the wind. The longer it went on, the more strained and broken it became. As the three kept walking, it became louder but less bestial. The deep ripples of snarling rage stretched thin, into a lamenting, more human tone. It echoed in the empty space, like several cries twisted together.

"What the shit could that possibly be?" murmured Isabela. Fenris turned to give her some reassurance, but he found her face looking on in uncertainty.

They reached the end of the valley, where a murky creak laced the horizon, parting the cleared land with wilderness. The growl turned into a moan, turned into a very human sobbing. A figure hunched downward, face towards the water. With the area cleared of haze, Fenris saw a broad but uneven back, dressed in a tattered and torn robe. He stepped closer, and the cry still sounded like several voices, yet there was just the one person, kneeling beside the creak.

 

"A monster," the strange figure said. Fenris heard angry splashing. Anger at their own reflection, he assumed.

Consumed with frustration and pity, he decided to remain cautious. "You there," he said sternly. "Show yourself. What business have you in this place?"

The figure was slow to react, as if unable to keep balance lifting its bulky body back up. On naked, gray feet it stood and turned. A mane of hair like dried wheat framed an angular face, with hollowed cheeks and stitched neck. Nerves cornered the black eyes like pulsing crow's feet. It was as if the skin they wore was placed on inside-out, and there was not enough of it.

"Maker," Isabela gasped. "Is that... a woman? Is she undead?"

"Oh no," the sudden realization made Fenris's heart drop. He pedaled back once to take it all in, to see the creature with wide and clear eyes. "She looks... like Leandra did. That night, when we found her, with him..."

"Necromancy, then? This day just keeps getting better."

"Stop, foul beast!" a new voice cried like a clarion war horn. Before the three could turn to look, a towering woman with horns curled like a ram's, charged in, straight for the undead woman.

The undead's twisted voice wailed, and she craned her hands like pulling invisible weeds from the earth, then she ran.  

Fenris stepped to give chase, along with the horned woman, but Isabela screamed, kicking a rotted hand of bone off her leg. She sent it flying before it could wrap its brittle fingers around her ankle, but the remaining body unearthed and flung itself at her.

He turned back charged, sundering the skeleton to bits and dust with a single swing. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"Fine, thank you," she panted. "Just been a while since I had to fight undead. Forgot how much I hated them, popping out of nowhere like that."

A single shambling corpse stumbled forward from the curtains of fog, then another and another, while more still hoisted themselves from the ground. Isabela and Fenris stood back-to-back, watching the undead circle around them. Fenris couldn't help but smirk. "Almost as if you never left."

"Was I gone long enough to say this is just like old times?"

"Not so short a time for me to correct you, or to not miss you."

"Aww, Fenris, don't make me blush in front of the walking dead."

"Um, excuse me," Merrill's voice peeped as she summoned a flash of protective aura with a wave of her staff, glimmering on Isabela's and Fenris's skin and armor. "Whenever you two are ready!" She then made a more concise motion, thrusting her sparkling staff like it was a spear, and forked bolts of lightning jutted from its tip. It spread to three of the corpses, frying their rotted skin and making them soft, fizzling targets.

"Don't be jealous, Kitten, I wouldn't forget you," said Isabela as she diced through the shocked corpses until they plopped to the earth in pieces like gobs of clay.

A rusty knife dove for Fenris's shoulder, but it chipped against the Merrill's arcane shield. It gave him enough time to recover, stepping back and cleaving the bony body in two. He groaned, seeing more corpses approach, all while the undead woman ran farther away, her wails lost in the bristles of leaves and wind. His markings glowed whitish blue, and in the surge of strength, he flew towards one corpse, then another and another, hacking through their bodies in a flash. A dull spear nicked the blade of his axe, a rattled gasp escaped him as he exhausted his power, but the corpse was met, skull-first, with the bash of a shield.

  "Ah, I'm so sorry!" said the horned woman, brushing the dust off her shield. She smiled at the three, an inviting face of dark gray skin and firm cheekbones. Her bone-white horns rooted in a bundled bun of white hair, and as magnificent and stern as they were, up close they could see they were chipped and weathered. "I tried to go after her. She's the one who summoned those corpses, you see, so if I had defeated her, they'd fall as well. But she escaped, and so I must apologize for leaving you to deal with these creatures yourself."

Fenris opened his mouth to make a proper introduction, but Merrill squealed first. "I didn't even know there were qunari women! Oh, wait, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have assumed. I've just never seen a qunari that looked like you. Not that I've seen a whole lot, so, again, sorry for making assumptions."

The horned woman gave a hearty laugh. "Do not trouble yourself. I am indeed a woman, but I'm no qunari."

"Are you from Seheron?" asked Fenris. He thought to ask if she was a Fog Warrior, but the mist that surrounded this place was too vast and chilled his bones. Even if he could think of a reason for a Fog Warrior to be here, the silvery stuff that surrounded them was undoubtedly magic. Still there was a second where the possibility made his heart twinge with guilt.

"Originally, yes, but that was long ago. I am Asaara, a Vashoth. My parents fled the Qun, I have never known it. My life is my own. But I doubt you came all this way to ask me personal questions." She began to laugh. "At least, I hope not!"

"You went right after that... person," said Isabela. "Does that mean you know who or what she is?"

Asaara's joyous face fell stuff and somber. "Ah, that is a fair question. But first, tell me why you have come to this wretched place."

"We are freelancers, from Kirkwall," said Fenris. "We've come to rescue templars. They chased a long-escaped apostate into this forest and never returned."

"I see. Then our paths were meant to cross eventually, but hopefully not our blades. You seem like decent people, so tell me true. Did you take this job so you could eat and provide for yourselves, or out of allegiance to the templars?"

"The first one," said Isabela.

"Oh yes, the first for me too," said Merrill. "As you can see, I have no reason to like templars."

"Aha, no, I suppose not," Asaara chuckled, then looked to Fenris. "What of you, then?"

He shook his head. "I'll not claim to ally myself with mages, but I would not call myself a friend of templars, either. This apostate is said to be using blood magic to keep herself alive and lure people into her traps in this forest. I would see this problem removed. But yes, I expect pay."

She smiled again. "Fair enough. Magic can be used for vile purposes, as you will see soon enough."

"As I've already seen."

"Again, fair. One more question. Were you given the apostate's name?"

"Una."

Asaara's face fell still again, and she sighed. "Then I will not waste words. I have seen your templars. They yet live, and I know where they are. If you promise not to harm my friends and let us leave when it is done, I will take you to them."

"Of course we promise," said Merrill.

"Wait," said Fenris. "I assume these 'friends' of yours are also apostates?"

"I won't hide it from you, if you wish the whole story," said Asaara. "But every second I explain is time we could be working to stop this mess."

"Then just tell us your relation to this Una person."

"Very well. That creature you saw? That was her. What remains of her, anyway."

"So it is necromancy?"

"Yes. Una escaped the Circle many years ago, and took care of a flock of mages, trying to live simple lives away from Chantry rule, though we've been known to wander back here and help fleeing mages. They rescued me some years back, and so I have stayed with them, protecting them as best I could. But there was nothing I, or anyone, could do to against time. Una was getting older, so when she got sick, it escalated. We got along as best we could without her, keeping her teachings, but one of the mages could not let it go. He studied the art of bringing the dead to life behind our backs, and I believe he had some prior knowledge. What you saw is the result of his efforts. Una's very existence is so volatile, undead and denizens of the Fade are drawn to her."

"And so you and this flock of mages have chased her down here?"

"Yes. We've lived all over the Free Marches, never staying anywhere too long. I do not believe Una fully knows what she is doing, but maybe she fled to the Free Marches because it's where she's originally from. We chased her here, but got careless, and the demon found us first."

"So there is a demon causing all this?"

"Yes, a demon of despair. It has my friends and your templars captive, no doubt feeding on their sorrow. If it gets a hold of Una too, there's no telling what damage it will cause. We must slay both it and her if we're all to escape this forest alive."   

"Fenris, you're not still unsure, are you?" said Merrill. "We have to save them."

"From the mess they created," he snarled back.

"The one who created this is already dead," said Asaara. "In Una's frustration, she lashed out, killed him within seconds of being resurrected. He has paid for his perversions."

"Convenient."

 Asaara cocked her head in confusion. "I do not see the problem. I do not wish to fight you."

"No, you wish to be free of any consequences."

"Fenris," said Isabela, her voice as soft as the hand she placed on his shoulder. "I know this is a little sketchy, but we won't find Hawke and the others without some help. It's this or nothing. And hey, wouldn't it be better to get rid of a demon? Greater good and all that?" 

Reluctantly, Fenris eased off of his scowl. "Very well. We shall go together and subdue the creatures that trap us here. But if I'm given reason to believe you're lying or these 'friends' of yours are corrupted..."

"You will not find such things, because it isn't so," said Asaara with a big grin. "Wonderful. Now, we may have lost track of Una, but the demon has holed up in a castle. I can lead you to it, and together we can take it down, and once it is dead, Una will be much easier to find!"

Isabela gave Fenris another reassuring pat on the shoulder before trailing the outer rim, along with Merrill. He watched them walk into the mist and partially disappeared before taking a breath and sprinting after them. 


	17. Sunshine

Chapter Seventeen: Sunshine

 

Judith wiped the sweat from her brow as she crossed the stone bridge from the town square to the farmlands. She sighed in relief, the evening breezes soothing her blistered skin, the jingle of coins in her pouch reminded her that hard work pays off. But when she approached her humble house, instead of the smell of supper wafting from the window, there were tensed voices echoing from inside. She slowed her steps and perked her ears.

 

"...Because it's the right thing to do, Leandra," said Malcolm, tempering his voice to a steady diplomatic tone.

"No, it's because he's you," said Leandra, a spike in her voice that reflected her feelings more honestly. "He's just like you when you escaped, barely able to function in the outside world."

"You forget, this is my native land, not the Free Marches. I've escaped and avoided all my life, I can at least give the poor man a few pointers."

"He's been here a week, that well exceeds 'a few pointers'."

"We were young once, too, Leandra, barely able to take care of ourselves. We had often relied on the kindness of strangers to get by, and it was seldom convenient for them to help us."

"Malcolm, please," Leandra's voice became exhausted. "Please don't make me the villain. It's bad enough we've had our eldest working since she could stand upright..."

 

Judith did not want to hear any more. She veered sideways into the open yard, looking to find the training dummy her father had set up for her on the hilltop. Her muscles ached, too weary to practice proper form. But she could at least get some stress out whacking that burlap dummy, waiting for her parents to finish arguing.   

 

Behind the house, she found Odran, his lanky arms wobbling under the weight and imbalance of an axe. He flung it up and over his head, then catapulted it with all his weight to the base of a stump. The axe made a deep grove in the stump, leaving the log next to it completely unscathed.

 

"That's not..." Judith began, stopping him from taking another swing. Stuck between frustration and pity, she sighed and took the axe from him. "Just watch me do it, all right?"

"Of course!" he said happily. "Always was a more visual learner."

He stood back watching, wide eyes and a smile, like he was an eager schoolboy, ready to observe and learn. "Wow," he cheered as she made an effortless, swift motion that split the log in two clean parts. "You're really strong!"

"It's nothing."

"It's not nothing! You're really impressive, and I can tell your parents are very proud of you."

"I know they are," she said with a forced smile as she lopped another log onto the stump.

Odran watched her chop again, as seamlessly as the one before. "Your father spends a lot of time with your little sister, I imagine."

"He does. He has to. Father says the better a mage is trained, the more control they have over their emotions, the easier it is to avoid templars and live a normal life."

"All that training, all that hard work... just to be normal. Strange, don't you think?"

"Couldn't say. This is the only life I've known. Not a mage like Father and Bethany, but we do things to keep them safe."

"That's fair," Odran chuckled, "you and the boy wouldn't know what it's like to have a carefree childhood, either. Still, I'm sure Malcolm is overjoyed to have such staunch protectors."

"Is the Circle so terrible? Father never wants to talk about it."

"And with good reason! Kinloch Hold is a prison. It may be one of the better Circles, as I'm told, but a prison all the same. I get food and shelter, granted, and an education on magic I would otherwise never gain. But every bit of it is laced with fear and hatred. And I'm still adjusting to all this sunshine and fresh air! No one lives in the Circle. At best, a mage just exists there. I'm lucky to have stumbled across such an elusive expert as your father."

Judith swung a cut so clean and strong, the two splits of wood flew apart and off the chopping stump. She sighed and turned to Odran. He leaned back against the house like it was a cozy lounge chair. He had a wide, carefree smile; the wrinkles he had when he first arrived seemed to be melting away. The flash of his teeth made Judith's insides twist. She felt a sudden rush of cold creep under her skin, as if ice were splintering in her veins. She remembered the sensation from when she first ingested lyrium, and assumed it was a side effect she would have to deal with.

"You know you can't stay here," she said plainly. "I am sorry for what you've endured, but I can't change what is. Father's trying to do a good deed helping you, but we can't afford to feed another mouth much longer. Flattery and sad stories aren't going to change that."

Odran lifted himself from his lounging. "I'm sorry, did you think...? Maker, no, I wasn't trying to trick you! Of course, I know I've already overstayed my welcome. And besides, I'm not a stray cat, or even some pitiable long-lost cousin. I'm a stranger, intruding on this warm, happy bit of familial peace."

"Listen, I don't know what Father's been teaching you, exactly, but maybe you could use some more practical help. I could teach you how to hunt, make simple repairs. It's only a few hours to the next village. You could take on jobs on the Chanter's Board, that's how Carver and I make most of our money."

"Such a thoughtful girl," he said.

"I am a grown woman," said Judith, her voice huffed with pride. "I provide and protect this family."

"Of course. Worry not, your father has taught me more than enough. I'll be out of your way soon."

He stood up, flashed another smile, and walked away. The cold streak of pain spiked again in Judith's gut. She thought to follow him, but Leandra called her into the house.

 

"I'm glad you're home," she said, "your father is giving Odran one more lesson before telling him he needs to leave. He took Bethany with him and Carver's still in town running errands, so I could use some help with supper."

"Of course," she said, following her mother's motions. "If I may ask, why is this man..."

"Because your father is compassionate," Leandra said swiftly, before the full question could fall from her daughter's lips. "This world is so lacking in it, he thinks it's his task alone to fill the gap. But it's not something one person can do. Sometimes one needs to be hard... for the people closest to you."

"I think I understand."

"I know you do. We've forced you to grow up so quickly. We truly are proud of you, your father and I," she began to laugh. A controlled, tender chirp, a learned habit from years in noble discipline. "Thank Andraste we had you, for you're a better adult than either of us! How did Malcolm and I manage to make you, it's baffling."

"Mother, please," said Judith, looking down to the bread she was cutting so her hair would fall over, and her mother could not see her blushing face.

"I do wish you would let me do something with that hair. You have such a lovely face."

"I was going to cut it short when I joined the army."

"Dear, we've discussed this. At best, someone might find out about the magic in the family. At worst, you could die in some pointless battle."

"I can be discrete, and I'm always careful. And Father has trained Bethany so well, no one would ever have to find out. I'd worker harder than anyone else, and buy you all a safe secluded mansion to live the rest of your lives in peace."

"Judith, darling, if I wanted to live in a secluded mansion, I would have stayed in Kirkwall."

"Fine," she pouted, turning back to her task.

There was a long silence, a steaming stew and bread ready to fill a small family, when Leandra spoke again. "Did I ever tell you my family, the Amells, are originally from Nevarra?"

"No," Judith said, her voice flat and uninterested.

"It was part of the Free Marches before breaking off into their own nation. I've only been there once when I was a girl, but it was a magnificent city. And their royal family has a long, fascinating history of dragon slayers."

Judith's head tilted towards her mother, eyes peering from the sweaty strands of loose hair. "...Really?"

"Oh yes. In fact, we do share their blood, if not just a drop. Why be a soldier, when you already have warrior princess in your veins?"

Judith snorted. "That doesn't make me feel any better about it. What good is a warrior that does not fight?"

"That's where the princess part comes in. A princess knows to extend her hand in diplomacy before raising her sword hand. She knows when to be kind and protect what matters, not to go looking for a fight."

"I don't think dragons give a care about diplomacy or kindness, Mother."

"Trust me, dear, if I dragon should attack the village, we're all depending on you to deal with it. Hopefully Carver would help. Hopefully."

Judith smiled, submitting to good humor. The chill in her gut remained, and through the window, she saw the three mages returning. But she allowed herself some good cheer, knowing how hard her mother was trying so hard for her.

 

***

 

Gallant trotted off ahead of the group, maneuvering through the twisting trees and rocky ledges, veiled by the mist. He would circle back, returning to Hawke's side, like a scouting soldier with nothing to report to his commander. The sound of his ruffled groan sounded disappointed.

His heavy paws smacked against mud, his short fur soaked, as he ran back to Hawke in the rain. He shook himself dry as best he could at the entrance of the cave, but he still left watery paw prints and he dripped from every fold.

 

"Still nothing, huh, boy," said Hawke to her mabari as she patted him with no regard to his dripping. "I'm so sorry, Gallant. I did not think we had to worry about rain this season, and it came so fast. We'll just have to wait until it clears and try again."

Gallant tilted his head and whined, to which Hawke scratched behind his ears. "This has all gone so wrong," she said to him, her voice soft, lost in the rapid darting of rain against rocks. "Those templars could be dead, or worse, and we may be stuck... I don't know how long. The more I try, the worse things seem to go." She sat at the edge of the cave's opening, barely sheltered from the rain. Gallant put his head into her lap, and she looked to him with clouded eyes. A numbing fuzz overcame her, and so she sat there, stroking the dog, unable to do anything else. "If we manage to escape this place, and come home with no templars, what then? What will Meredith do? Perhaps she'll blame this all on the mages and take it out on them. On Bethany."

Gallant looked up a her and whined.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I can't do anything right."

"Sister?" Bethany's voiced echoed from inside the cave. "Are you all right? Did Gallant come back?"

Hawke's legs wobbled as she forced herself back up. She wiped her face with her forearm and swallowed back all her sadness in a hurry. "He has."

"Then come over to the fire, or you'll catch your death out there."

Hawke wiped her face once more for good measure, then returned further into the cave, where Bethany and Sebastian sat beside a fire. The dark wrinkles of stone glowed bright against the flames, all shadows banished to far reaches.

"Was your hound not able to find anything?" asked Sebastian.

"I'm afraid not," said Hawke, sitting between them against the fire. "The scent of the forest seems to be confusing him."

"Then it's not his fault," said Bethany. "Gallant is an excellent tracker. I remember the time you ran away from home, and Carver followed him and found you."

"I remember," said Hawke with a struggling smile, the corners of her mouth twitching. "I was on the Imperial Highway, halfway to the next town over. Gallant threw himself at me, and Carver pouted 'Bloody dog chose you, not me, so if you're going to run off, at least take him with you! I won't clean up after a dog that sees me as his second choice!'"

Bethany laughed, then it lulled into a warm sigh. "It's nice to remember it wasn't all bad."

"I didn't think Lothering was bad at all, once were settled. It was just a lot of work." Hawke looked onto Sebastian, smiling with polite, if not curious distance. "My sister hasn't been telling you family secrets, has she?"

"What?" he said, eyes wide. "Oh, goodness, no. We were just discussing what we might do next. Nothing overly personal. Nothing I have no business knowing."

"I was only joking, Sebastian."

"Oh... I see. Forgive me. I was never close to my brothers, you see. It's nice to see siblings get along so well. I did not want to intrude on it."

"That's kind of you," said Bethany. "For what it's worth, I am sorry about your family. I know it's years late, but..."

"I appreciate it all the same, Lady Hawke. We've only just met, but I can already see, you have a heart as lovely as you yourself."

"Oh," giggled Bethany, taken aback in surprise. "That's not necessary, and you don't have to refer to me as, 'Lady Hawke'. Mages aren't allowed titles, after all."

"Perhaps, but you are as the Maker made you. You're no less worthy of praise for it, and you seem plenty worthy of praise."

Bethany's whole face bloomed with blush, so she covered herself with her hands. Hawke looked back and forth at them, seeing them smile, wondering why she could not smile and laugh herself. A cold ache clenched at her, like her heart dropped into a pool of ice. As she dug her nails into the earth, trying to mind the pain, trying to appear like she was part of their fun, she noticed the pattering of rain outside had subsided.

"Sebastian," she blurted out, snapping herself upward like a toy soldier. "May I speak to you outside for a moment? Bethany, try to get a little rest. The rain stopped, we'll be leaving soon."

"Oh... of course, Hawke."

Sebastian did not say anything. He shuddered, but followed Hawke outside, as she asked. She lead him out farther, until there was a considerable space of soggy grass between them and the cave.

"What's wrong?" he said when she stopped walking.

Hawke glared at him with a fortified position, crossed arms and sharp eyes, cutting into his gentle approach. "Sebastian, what do you think you're doing?"

He flinched. "I'm sorry?"

"With my sister, just now. Were you flirting with her?"

"What? No, Hawke, I was just--"

"Because I have to say, that's very reckless, even for you. She's a Circle Mage, you're in the Chantry. Even if it's temporary for you, it's not for her. What could you hope to give her? You're just... filling her head with promises you can't keep. You can't do anything for her. You'll only hurt her, and I can't let you do that to my sister."

"Hawke, I was only--"

"And do you think she'd be blushing and starry-eyed if she knew you tried to turn the others in?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Merrill told me you were trying to convince Fenris to alert the templars of her and Anders. Were you never even going to approach me about it? Do you think me a fool?"

"No! I was only trying to... to do the right thing," Sebastian sighed. His hands trembled, nervous tension biting at his sides. His wandered, never looking directly at Hawke's weighty gaze. "I'm sorry, Hawke. I don't want secrets between us, but this situation worries me. I confided in Fenris because I assumed he felt the same. Where he stood with Merrill and Anders always seemed clear, but where you stood... I'm still confused. You've sent apostates to the Circle, I've seen you do it. And from what I've seen, you don't get along with them anyway."

"Contrary to what you might think, I'm not a fan of Circles. My father escaped one, and he was in complete control his whole life. But many of them do not have his control, and I can't hope to help them, and I have no alternatives."

"And so Merrill and Anders do have control? Merrill, who practices blood magic, and Anders who has--"

"Don't patronize me, I'm well aware," Hawke snapped. "I've made it clear to both of them I'm taking no special measures to keep them from the templars. I know it does not absolve me, but Anders has been caring for the sick and wounded in his clinic. And there are so many in Kirkwall. Many of them are Fereldens, my countrymen, because they're forced into dangerous labor. And Merrill is Dalish, I've already caused her enough pain with human clumsiness. I just... I can't help them, but I do not wish to do them worse. I don't agree with many of their choices, but I will not lord over them. Every time I've done so, it's only caused pain."

"I see."

"I can't stop you, and certainly telling the templars is the lawful thing to do. But they have helped me, and they've helped Kirkwall in their own ways. I thought you at least cared enough about me to talk to me about it first."

"I'm so sorry. I thought it was right, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I was so sure Fenris would agree with me, but then he told me to bring it up with you and I couldn't bring myself to do that, either.

I've gone about this all wrong. I had resolved to try and understand how you felt, to help you feel better on your own terms. Instead I've isolated you further. I only thought... Bethany has lost family, too, and I have no idea what she's endured in the Circle. I wanted to try and make her feel better, as well. And I thought that, in turn, would help you. I can see how much she means to you."

Hawke dropped her guarded stance, lowered her crossed arms. "...Oh. I see... then I was the one who was mistaken."

"No, it's... I think we should talk."

"So you've said."

"We were becoming such good friends, and then, the night we went after your mother, I... cleaved something between us. I wanted to give you space, but--"

Hawke's guard rose up again, as quick as it came and left before. "So you still think I haven't properly grieved yet? Is that what this is all about? You still wish to coddle me?"

"No, no! I only--"

"It's been months, Sebastian. I'm as over it as I'm going to get. If I've changed at all, it's permanent. If I'm no longer someone who seems a friend to you, then that's all there is to it."

"No, Hawke. I don't wish to stop travelling you. That's the problem. I feel there's an even greater distance between us, and I want to do whatever it takes to stop it."

Hawke gave a tired sigh. "You _are_ always the one most eager to come along with me."

"May I be blunt with you, Hawke?" he waited for her to nod. "You're the first true friend I've ever had. I only met the others through you, though I treasure their friendships all the same."

"Come now, that can't be. You're a very sweet man."

"I've told you a bit of my past already. I was a rotten child, seeking attention in all the wrong ways. I'm only as decent as I am because of the Chantry."

"Well... if it makes you feel any better, I've never had many friends either. My family was always moving, and I was always so caught up working, trying to protect them... Listen, Sebastian. I do want to stay friends, truly I do. But the situation we're in is getting worse. We're lost, separated from the others, and lives are on the line. So I ask that we put this to the side for now, and talk about feelings and politics after this is done."

"I understand completely, Hawke. You're right, this isn't the time or place for such a conversation. May I tell you one last thing, though? Flirting doesn't have to be some serious compact. It can just be for the moment, for fun. We've flirted before, after all." 

"What?" Hawke lost the grip on her taciturn stance. "I don't, we never... did we? I didn't intend, that is... you're a Chantry brother, that would be inappropriate. I should have known better."

"I've told you before," he chuckled, "it doesn't make me any less human. I'm not trying to tempt you, and I know you're not doing that to me. We're just having fun. Why don't you try it?"

"Try... flirting with you?"

"Just once, very quick. It won't take but a moment."

"But, I don't... I can't just... I didn't pepare."

"You don't do it much, do you?"

"Well... let me put it this way. I go to the Blooming Rose for the food."

"Ah, I think I understand now. You're so gorgeous, you're probably more used to people admiring you from afar, so you've never needed to."

Hawke's dark eyes popped, and she turned away from Sebastian, so he would not see her blush. "That's not funny."

"But I'm being completely sincere! You're amazing, Hawke. And I know you can still do this. You've gotten us out of worse."

She nudged her head to look back, and she found him extending his hand to her. She gave him a small smile and nod, and there was comfort as he placed his hands on her shoulder. The cold and fuzz that had whirred around her was still there, but it had subsided, allowing a brief, warm tingle to settle her and melt the aches in her bones.

"So," he said, smirking, "do you want to try?"

"Oh! Um, well, okay. I, ah... like the way you...sing the Chant? With followers like you, it's no wonder Maferath was jealous of Andraste!"

Sebastian laughed. "Not bad for a first try. Maybe a bit too specific. But thank you for the compliment."

"I do miss hearing you sing. I missed hearing your voice."

Sebastian flinched, caught off guard by Hawke's earnest. He ran nervous fingers through the slick of his hair to settle himself, and recovered with a simple smile. "Then when we're done here, you can come to the Chantry and hear me sing whenever you like. And we can work on your technique."

"Um, excuse me?" Bethany called out, poking her head from the cave. "Is everything all right? We should probably keep going, if the rain's stopped."

"Yes, Bethany, come on out," said Hawke. "She's right, we really have been idle too long. We'll discuss these...um, matters, another time."

As Bethany emerged from the cave, Gallant happily trailing beside her, streams of sunlight passed through the thick shell of clouds. The mist wrung around her ankles dissipated, receded into deep corners of the woods.

With the dark and grog gone from the clearing, a herd of long, rabbit-like ears flopped up from underneath the ground. Hawke watched one pair of ears pop close to her feet, then another, and another, until a whole heard of them connected her to the cave.

"Are these...?"

As Bethany walked out, she gasped as a collective of creatures unearthed to escort her out. With a harmonious plinking sound, each one grew black, beady eyes. They looked mostly like wild rabbits, but bigger, their ears flared, and their fur had an ethereal greenish glow.

 

"Maker!" Bethany gasped in wonder. "Are those..."

"I think they are," said Hawke.

"Are... what?" said Sebastian , brow slanted in confusion.

"These are puca. Lots of old Ferelden stories about them. Spirits who inhabit the bodies of woodland animals. Much like the sylvans, though hopefully not as bloodthirsty." 

"So they're harmless, then?"

"Varies by story. But mostly good. They lead lost children out of the woods."

Sebastian watched as the puca formed a small flock, bouncing from one patch of grass to the other, all going in one direction. "Do you think they're trying to lead us out?"

"In some stories, they lead to danger," said Bethany as she returned to her sister's side. "I'd say they're more neutral than good. More or less."

"Ah, so following them... would be a complete gamble?"

Hawke watched Gallant walk circles around them, trying to sniff and inspect every puca that hopped past him. When he had his fill, he trotted back to her with a happy bark and wag of the tail.

"So it seems," she said. "Normally I would advise against it, but this is an unusual situation. And we actually want to go towards the danger. Perhaps a magical problem requires a magical solution."

"Forgive my saying, Hawke," said Sebastian, "but following spirits does not seem like something you would advise, considering..."

"I am an Andrastian, or I try to be. But this world is older than Andraste, and we should respect that."

"I did not think such creatures were real myself," said Bethany. "Or perhaps all this time in the Circle, I simply stopped believing."

She looked at both of them, saw the worry in their faces, and gave a confident smile. "Don't worry, I'll protect you all. We can do this together, remember?"

The tension in Sebastian's face subsided. "Of course, Hawke."  

Bethany smiled and gave her sister a quick hug. "I believe you."


	18. Sacrifice

Chapter Eighteen: Sacrifice

 

Bethany tilted her match, and the tiny flame at its end spread to the wiry white wick of the Chantry candle. Only a few others were lit, making a scattered glow of soft light, to crown the mass of velvet red candles. Fenris never liked the Chantry much, or at least none he'd ever seen, and the Kirkwall one was no exception. It was a repurposed Tevinter keep, and no amount of banners, hymns, and candles could fully mask the cruelty that lingered. It was built upon it, stacked into the walls, and seeped into the air.

While Bethany prayed to her flame, Fenris looked over at Isabela. She had her arms clamped around her waist and her feet together, trying to take up as little space as possible. Clearly she did not care for this place, either. Hawke knew none of her followers cared for the Chantry, so she seldom asked them to come along, even for non-religious purposes. For Fenris, that was enough, so he would often come along anyway.

Her sister also knew this and told them they need not follow her. She was just stopping in for a while, to pay her respect. But, as Fenris pointed out, Hawke had asked him and Isabela to look after her while she was off on her Deep Roads expedition, and the Chantry is the last placed in Kirkwall an apostate should be left alone, save the Gallows themselves. Bethany pouted but conceded, and they all put aside their discomforts.

Fenris tried to keep his eyes on Bethany as she prayed, occasionally letting his sight wander. He watched the clerics float around on the upper floors, keeping alert for the ever-constant chance of a random templar appearance. After a while, though, the familiar structure of the building, the sheer height of it, would make him shudder. So he would look back at Bethany, and marvel at how serene she looked. Her round face glowed against the light of the candles, her eyes and hands clasped over her heart. It was as if she were somewhere else, transported to a more peaceful place.

She finished her prayer, and Fenris and Isabela followed her out of the Chantry. They walked halfway through Hightown in silence; Bethany kept her head down, raven locks tumbled over her face. She sifted through the crowds like a ghost.

 

"Oh, about that priest fellow," said Isabela. Fenris winced, shocked by the sound of her voice after such a long lull. "The one who asked us about Hawke while we were in there?"

He looked at her and saw her smile, while charming as ever, was crooked, with lopsided lips and a little too much tooth showing. Eager to end the awkward silence, and he could not blame her. "Yes? What about him?"

"What do you think? I say he fancies her."

"He is a priest, as you are aware."

"So? That just means he can look, not touch. I recognize him from before, he was definitely looking at her."

"If I recall correctly, Hawke was in full armor last time we did 'business' with that priest."

"Hey, whatever works, right? And don't be jealous, he was looking at you, too. Must be the whole quiet intensity thing he likes. You and Hawke do it so well."

Fenris snorted. "Perhaps that's why we get along so famously."

"Do you think we should tell her when she gets back? I've never seen Hawke with anyone, she could use a little fun, especially after the Deep Roads. Did you know she goes to the Blooming Rose just to talk to people, and for the food?"

"I don't think Hawke would enjoy that, much less seducing a Chantry brother."

"I didn't say it had to be anything with permanence. If the Maker's gone, how much can he really see?"

"Some enjoy being alone."

"Fine, fine, can't do anything with that. Anyway, Bethany, you're nearly done with your errands, aren't you? Why don't you come join us at the Hanged Man? I can still feel the judgmental stuffiness of those sisters, I could use a drink to--"

"You two don't have to do this," Bethany blurted out. "I know my sister asked you to look after me while she's in the Deep Roads, but I don't need bodyguards. It's not like I'm waving a staff around, shooting fireballs for all to see."

Fenris and Isabela exchanged blank expressions. "It's not like that," said Isabela.

"Hawke did ask us to look after you, it's true," said Fenris. "It was not meant to be secretive, unbeknownst to you. Just a precaution."

"Not like she paid us to watch your every move," said Isabela.

"Although she did offer," said Fenris.

"Only because it might interfere with getting work while she's away."

"Not... that we would consider this work."

"No, no, of course not. It's just--"

Bethany scoffed and turned away, fists balls on her sides as she walked.

"We didn't mean it like that," said Isabela as she caught up to her. "Your sister just doesn't know how long she'll be gone. Really, it must be nice having someone who cares for you so much."

"You care about being free and making your own decisions, don't you, Isabela?" pouted Bethany. "Can you honestly tell me you'd be happy with people having to watch over you, just so you can do everyday tasks?"

Isabela shook her head, as if the question were a weighted wave, smacking her in the face. "If I had my way, this wouldn't be an issue at all. I can't stop the templars from ruling this town."

"You should consider your mother," said Fenris. "This is for her piece of mind, as well as yours."

"Maybe I'm just tired of Judith assuming to know how me or mother feel."

Again, Fenris and Isabela looked at each other, and again they found the other's eyes were wide and unknowing.

"We would have done this anyway," he said.

"No you wouldn't," said Bethany. "You're all her friends, and this is a favor you're doing for her."

"We are capable of being friends to you both."

"Honestly I thought I was getting better along with you," said Isabela, shrugging. "No offense, but your sister can be a little stiff. All the more reason you should come have fun with us, before she comes home and wants to tuck you in at sundown."

Bethany lowered her head. The locks of her hair rustled as her body jilted. She started to laugh, though it was a throat-scratching, forced laugh. Bewildered, they continued to follow her as she walked to the edge of Lowtown, where the docks hung on the side, and the rocky ridges sloped into the sea. The setting sun against the glass-clear horizon bounced against her warm olive skin. Her hands shifted and crossed over her chest, bracing herself against the cold and salty winds. "I have to tell you both something," she said in a feather-light voice. "I have to tell someone."

"Is everything all right?" asked Isabela.

"It will be. I'm... I'm going to turn myself in. I'm going to the Circle."

Isabela gasped, Fenris merely nodded in understanding, to which Isabela gave him an angry shove.

"Aren't you going to say something?"

"It's clear she's given this a lot of thought."

"But she's throwing her life away!"

"A life she would otherwise spend hiding from templars."

"But that's not her fault, that's why we're here."

"I'll not stop her from making a choice."

"And what are we supposed to tell Hawke when she comes back and finds her only sister gone?"

"The truth."

"Ugh, you're impossible. Bethany, please reconsider. You're so young, you really want to spend the rest of your life cooped up in a tower?"

"I'm not daft, of course I don't. But I also don't want to live with this guilt anymore. With my mother and sister at constant risk, just to keep me safe. That's not much a life, either. And I was luckier than most mages. Maybe I can give them some insight, help them in ways their superiors wouldn't understand."

"That's nice of you and all, but they're not you're responsibility."

"But I'm tired of being my sister's responsibility! I'm tired of this fear dictating every move we make in our lives!"

"Bethany, I've only known your sister a few months, but seems to me like everything she's been doing was for you. The whole expedition, the money, the reputation... wasn't it all to protect you?"

 

"And just think of what good it will go to when she doesn't have to waste it on me." She sniffled, nose crinkled. She wiped her wet eyes with her forearm so no tears would fall. "I can't keep holding her back. If being with my fellow mages means my family can have one less burden, then I'll do it."

"But then they'll have the burden of being without you."

"That's true," said Fenris. "Perhaps this is a conversation you should have with your family."

"I thought it might be best to... to just leave, before Judith comes back. If I tell her, she may even come up with new 'precautions'. Perhaps she'll forbid me from leaving the house! Is that any better than the Circle?"

"All right, all right," said Isabela in a soothing voice. "Let's all just calm down. This is a big decision. It warrants a little more time to think on, maybe sleep on. You know what else? If you're going to spend the rest of your life in a tower in the Gallows, you should at least allow yourself some fun before you go."

"I suppose that's fair," said Bethany, trying to keep her voice flat. "Maybe I could do something fun for once, and think on... all this, in the morning."

"That's more like it," cheered Isabela, putting her arm across Bethany's back and leading her towards the road that led to the Hanged Man.

 

***

 

Fenris kept his distance, allowing Asaara to take point of the group as she lead them through the forest. They skirted the edge of the valley, until the towering trees reclaimed their dominance over the land. He kept focus on the shield on her back as she walked; a worn metal kite shield filled with scratches and knicks. She stepped over every large rock and looping tree root, like she knew every pattern laid out in front of her.

 

"You are certain of the way you're going," he said.

"I was here before," Asaara replied. "My friends and I had Una cornered, then the demon was summoned and took them. I foolishly went after Una, allowing the demon to fortify its position. If it has any... influence over the forest, with the Veil so thin, then perhaps it's allowing for a clear path. It wants us to come. It will be ready for us."

 

Isabela remained at Fenris's side, a cautious distance, but Merrill wandered closer. She smiled at Asaara, and she smiled back.

 

"You've been protecting these mages all this time?" Merrill asked.

"For many years. They rescued me first. A few humans had cornered me, tried to saw off my horns, when they came in and lit all their hair on fire. Ever since, we've just been... a band of adventurers, you could say. Trying to get by in this world."

"Oh! That sounds a bit like us."

"It is nothing like us," Fenris grumbled.

Merrill paid him no mind. "So then how did one of your people know necromancy with the rest unaware? Doesn't seem like something one could learn reading scrolls here and there on the road."

Asaara sighed, bowing her head in shame. "I suspect Cornell knew before he came into our group. He was originally from Tevinter--"

"Mystery solved," Fenris cut in. Isabela snorted.

"He had some sort of rivalry with a brother, I think, and he had to do whatever he could to be better. He must have studied all sorts of magic before turning to darker arts, just to have an edge, but to no avail, and so he fled in shame."

"There are no 'dark arts' in the Imperium," said Fenris. "They may claim to forbid necromancy, but nothing is sacred to them. They would just call it by some other name, or claim their own need justified. A magister would summon a long dead spirit and force it into a corpse just to satisfy their pride."

"I may be Vashoth, but I know enough about Tevinter to know you're right. Although in Cornell's case, I think it was despair at work, not pride. For all his talent and knowledge, he could not keep hold of anything he loved. Poor, stupid Cornell. If he had just talked to us...but perhaps we did not make ourselves open enough for him."

 

Asaara stopped and fell silent. At her feet, the land sloped downward into a deep gash. In the center was a ruined manor, partly sunken into the earth. All that kept it from falling were the trees that took root in its foundation, grown into the crackling walls, curled through broken windows. It was unmistakably of Tevinter make; even as it slowly fell, it remained a mountainous height, an intricate stacking of floors and archways, with gold framing and dragons carved in the walls. Tendrils and vines were woven through the windows, crawled up along the pillars, as if the whole forest was slowly swallowing the building. 

 

"We shall find the demon here," Asaara said with a gulp. "Perhaps Una has retreated nearby, as well. I don't know if we can take down both at once, but both must be defeated if we're to ever see our friends again."

"We have defeated many demons in the past," said Fenris.

"Plenty of undead, too," added Isabela.

"I believe you," said Asaara. "Seeing the way you handled yourselves back there, I fear I am the least qualified. But there's no time for fear or doubts. Let's be off."

Assara offered Merrill her hand, to gently lead her down the sloping land. Fenris did the same for Isabela, and they entered the manor.

 


	19. The Price of Selflessness

Chapter Nineteen: The Price of Selflessness  

  

 The slightest crick of pressure against the floor flung Judith from her slumber. She awoke in a cold sweat, a biting chill spread through her bones. Hearing steps just outside her room, she kept her eyes shut. The steps were followed by the swing of her door; in the darkness, she opened one eye and saw the vague frame of her father, come to kiss her goodnight. She pretended to be asleep as he approached.

Her bed rustled as Malcolm sat stop the sheet. Her eyelids crinkled and she nudged her face into her pillow, feigning an unconscious tumble.

Malcolm leaned over and kissed her head. "I'm so proud of you, Judith," he murmured, in words soft and breaking at the hinges of each syllable. "I put you through so much. I never deserved a daughter like you, but we needed you. We wouldn't have made it this far without you. And wherever this life takes you, I'm sure it will be great. Maker knows you've done just fine without any help."

Judith thought to open her eyes and lift herself out of bed, but then her father got up again. As the door squeaked slowly, a small, "I love you, my little bird," escaped the crack before it shut. 

She opened her eyes wide. The cold within her streaked upwards, making every rapid heartbeat ache. The pulse gave no sound except her own rushing heartbeat, yet it told her something was wrong. Something otherworldly was lurking.

She bit down on her lip and worked through the pain, throwing herself out of bed. She bolted for the door, but it was locked from the outside.

"Father? Father, why did you lock me in? Father?" her voice shook as she thrashed upon the door, but to no avail. "Father, whatever it is, I can help you! I can do it!" The cold pain beat within her, and her eyes twitched, searching her dark room for an alternative. Finding only the window, she grabbed her wooden sword--the closest thing in the Hawke house to a weapon--and climbed out from there.

Outside, the cold pulsed harder, like an icy hand clenching at her heart. As she stepped away from the house, it beat harder and faster within her traveling through her chest, up her neck and into her head. She called out for Malcolm but no answer came. In the night silence, she heard a faint rustle of grass across the farmland's end, going into the forest. She followed it, and as she ran, the cold pulsing rung in her skull, like a radar honing in on a signal.

The pulse lead her into the woods. She ran faster than she ever had before, giving no care to the hard earth against her bare feet, branches that lashed at her arms, or the bitter wind whipping her face. Animal sounds rumbled in the distance, but they did not reach her. All she felt was the cold, pulsing panic. All she heard was her own throbbing heartbeat, and the whisper motions of another person--perhaps more than one--ahead of her.

"Father, don't go!" she cried as she threw herself out of the bushes and into a clearing. Her vision blurred in her panic, looking around and finding only patches of dirt and grass, the tips of pine trees and mountaintops in the moonlight. When her breathing slowed and sight cleared, the pulse also settled. Judith felt a new panic without it leading her, that she had reached where she needed to be but remained unclear of what there was to find. As thrashing, hammering panic faded, she was awash with a needling dread.

She stepped carefully through the clearing until the grass darkened. She looked down to find the blades coated with blood, which trailed deeper into the clearing. Following the leaking red path, a flash of light sparked like a spray of bright crystals. In that moment of clear light, Judith saw her father casting a spell on an abomination that already had its claws inside him.

"Father!" she hollered, bolting towards them both.

Malcolm mumbled a small, "N, no," before the abomination tossed him to the ground. The creature recoiled in pain, its warped purple skin singed and smoked from what must have been an arduous battle.

Judith screamed, raising her sword and throwing herself at the abomination. She swung the blunt blade across its skull with all the strength she could muster. It let out a weak, scraping whine, like a dying animal. It raised its bloody claws in counter, but Judith whacked them away. It cried again, hunched downward as if to surrender, but she swung again and again. But she couldn't feel it die through the wood. There wasn't enough pain travelling into her skin. So she threw down her sword and pummeled the creature until it stopped moving.

"J, Judith," Malcolm's voice, weak and bubbled with blood, dissipated the red haze that clouded her eyes. She looked down and saw the dead abomination, lumps of demonic, purple flesh slowly coming undone. She found Odran's face, lost in a warp of twisted veins and black eyes, before his body faded into nothingness. She looked at her hands, with blood-smeared palms and bruised knuckles. The pain finally sunk in after the rush; raw and hot, scathing against her cold skin.

Doing her best to ignore the pain, she ran to her father as he lay on the stained grass. Seeing the punctures, she immediately began tearing off her clothes in strips.

"I'm so sorry," he said. "I let you all down. Please don't be mad at Odran. He was young, alone, and afraid. He was so deep in despair. I could have, could have saved him..."

"Father, enough," Judith said sternly as she fastened a tourniquet. "Don't talk anymore, you're only wasting energy. I'll stop the bleeding. Then Bethany can fix you up, you'll be good as new."

"Bethany only knows the basics of Creation magic and I... I've lost too much blood."

"Give Bethany more credit, Father. I just need to get you home. Just relax, I can do this." 

Morning spilled into the forest as Judith ran back into town, faint pink light painting every tree and puddle of blood a deeper shade.

 

***

 

The glowing puca bounced on the blades of grass until the earth began to crack. When the last patch of green became bare dirt, they all made a clean, simultaneous halt, like disciplined soldiers.

"I suppose this must be it," said Bethany as she craned her neck up to take in all of the old Tevinter manor. "What do you think? Is the puca leading us here an act of mischief, or benevolence? If the others realized the Veil's thinness is obscuring the forest's path, they might have continued west like us. They could be inside. Maybe the templars took refuge here."

"Or it could be demons," said Hawke, blunt and dry. The faint smile she had while following the puca soured upon seeing the building. Her face twitched slightly with risen brow and scrunched nose bridge; a controlled response to the lyrium-enduced pulse, reacting to the presence of Fade denizens.

"This place looks like Tevinter design," said Bethany, taking Hawke's hand and slowly maneuvered down the slope and towards the bramble-strewn plaza. "An old design, too. This may have been a site of great agony, left unchecked for so long."

"I doubt whoever owned this place simply up and left."

Bethany forced a giggle. "It does seem to have an 'Ominous lair of doom, do not enter' feel to it, doesn't it?"

"It doesn't matter," said Hawke, completely unmoved by her sister's humor, letting go of her hand once they reached the gate. "There is something in there, and it needs to be destroyed."

Gallant was as tense as she was, growling at the black marble entrance. There were twin dragons statues at the foot of the gate, their expressions so disdainful, they seemed to be growling back.

"This was always a possibility," said Sebastian, maintaining a cautious and small smile. "But it could still mark the end of our search, and we have dealt with their like before. Let us proceed with care, and may the Maker watch over us."

"Indeed. Stay together, and stay close to me," said Hawke.

"Sister, wait," said Bethany, a spike of urgency in her sweet voice as she squeezed Hawke's hand and tugged it back.

"Bethany, what are you doing? Let go. Lives could be on the line."

"I, I know, this will only take a moment." She clasped her other hand and looked up at her sister's hard face with a wide, warm smile. "We're going to do this together, all right? Whatever's causing this, we'll defeat it. What's one demon to the Hawke Sisters?"

Hawke stared back at her sister, bewildered, until the warmth of Bethany's hands reached her, easing the sting of the pulse in her head. It still ached to smile for long, the muscles along her mouth felt like irons pressed on her face, but she lifted them to form a small one for her sister. "I... of course. We've surely dealt with worse. Then we'll find the others and rescues those templars."

"And we have help."

Hawke turned to see Sebastian, smiling but at a respectable step away. She reached for his hand and squeezed in equal measure. "That we do."

His smile widened. "I am honored to be a part of it."

When they entered the manor, the inside was in shambles. Shards of broken glass were scattered all over the floor. Layers of dust caked onto each other, covering the floor. The foyer was decked with petrified wood and chipped pillars.

"This place looks like it could collapse at any moment," said Bethany. "It's probably only held up as well as it did due to magical defense the original owners had."

"I know," said Hawke, "but I know there's a demon here, and we can't afford to be separated. So tread lightly."

 

They travelled up the grand staircase, one by one, their steps light. Everything in their way was eaten by rot; faceless portraits, crumbled statues, fractured crystal lanters. All that stood vigilant in the hall were sentinel suits of armor. They stood tall, watching over every section of archway. Their helms were horned, shoulder plates pointed, like metal-coated dragon's skin.

Hawke reached the end of the hall and turned, but the pulse throbbed in her head, harder and colder. In the moment it took for her reflexes to react, she caught a glimpse of a hunched figure, dressed in tattered blue robes. She stepped back and held out her arm, so the others would stay back.

 

"Bethany," she whispered. "Can you cast a paralyzing glyph in the adjacent room?"

"Absolutely."

"It's a Despair demon, but the templars might be taken hostage in there, too."

"Yes, it might be feeding off them right now. I know what to do."

"I knew I could count on you. Sebastian, on my signal, you will cover me."

He nodded. "Of course, Hawke."

Bethany clutched her staff and it glowed a bright, airy green. She inched closer to the doorway, but stopped just before the entrance. As the light expanded, she teetered the end of it towards the entrance, and it spilled out into the room, where it filled in the cracks of the tiles, drawing a symbol with the spaces. When the glyph fully formed, the demon gave out a deep, gurgling moan. Hawke remained at Bethany's side as she stepped to the entrance, where they found the demon writhing against the power of the glyph. Bethany's staff sparked with an impending fire spell, but she winced upon seeing templars plasters to the walls with sheets of ice.

She saw tilting heads and quivering fingers, and with lack of focus, the flame at the end of her staff went out.

"Bethany!" hawke shouted. "You must do it now, we'll save them after!"

Bethany shuddered and summoned a new flame, but the demon yanked itself free, and the glyph faded. A blue hood flapping over an elongated, bone-white head. It had huge front teeth like square slabs of ivory jutting from a lipless mouth. No eyes, yet clearly saw the intruders. It waved its bony fingers and a clink of metal resounded behind Hawke. She turned to find the suits of armor in the hall, clanking into movement.

"New plan," said Hawke. "Bethany, push them back. Sebastian, follow me."

They each nodded, and Hawke rushed ahead. Sebastian grunted behind her as one of the closer armors made a grab for him. But he was swift, and kept close behind Hawke as she advanced into the room. She swung at the demon, but it floated away, dwindling just out of reach of her sword. Sebastian followed the demon with the point of his bow, and with a flick of his wrist, a succession of arrow tore through the demon's ethereal robes.

"Such pain," the demon said, fluttering downward like a snowflake. "I know it all too well. You can never escape it. There's always more."

Hawke pointed her blade and gathered lyrium infused light for her silencing, but the sound of Bethany screaming and Gallant yelping broke her focus. In the corner of her eye, she saw her mabari slide across the floor unconscious, and when she looked ahead she found her sister struggling to break free from the old of a sentient suit of armor.

"Hold on!" Hawke cried through gritted teeth, seeing the demon dangle itself between her and her captured sister, taunting with her. Another flurry of arrows came, making the demon scream, and Hawke used the time to bolt back towards the entrance. She flipped her sword and bashed the helmet with he brunt of her pommel. As it clanked onto the floor, the rest of the body toppled. Hearing more arrows zip, she decapitated another, and another, until they surrounded her. She readied her arms for a sweeping swing, but a circle of magic was drawn across the floor before her. Recognizing the pattern as a repulsion glyph, she quickly pedaled back and watched the walking suits get flung to the other side of the hall.

"Hawke!" Sebastian's voice echoed from back inside the room. Hawke ran the way she came and found the demon hovering over him, cornered and reaching for a loosed arrow just out of reach. The tip of her sword found the demon's back as she swung, and it gave a hoarse, rattling cry.

Her sword emitted power, ready to finish it, but the demon fumed a bluish-white powder, like finely grounded ice. She lifted the glowing blade to sap its spell, but the powder fell everywhere, phasing through her armor to prick at her skin. She found her arms fumbling, elbows flopped like jelly, sword shaking in her grip; the power she held become more distant and dethatched. She saw it in her hands but felt only the cold. The sight of her sword blurred, drifting from her body, like her very being was being plucked out of her flesh.

"No. Damn it, no," she muttered to herself, squeezing the hilt and blinking rapidly to keep focus. But the magic was numbing; Sebastian had already dropped to the floor, and Bethany went limp against the doorway. On one bent knee she trembled, watching the demon float overheard, waiting, until her hands slipped against her sword, and the darkened cold washed over her.


	20. Carver

Chapter Twenty: Carver

 

Bethany’s knees sank into the mud. The ends of her night shirt were torn and tattered from the rush through the wood into the clearing. Her raven hair was slicked against her flustered cheeks. Her eyes began to fog; a film of mist and filth growing over her eyes, until all she could see were her hands, whirring with a dim green light. Little greenish white flickers tumbled off her fingernails and dropped onto Malcolm’s festering gash.

 

“Please,” she said, voice trembling, sucking back all the water in her eyes and nose, so that nothing would fall on her father but the healing magic. This was going to be close; nothing could interfere. “Father. Father, please be okay…”

“Bethany,” her sister’s voice was faint and distant at first. The little Hawke decided she could answer once she was finished, and their father was up again. “It’s time to stop,” her voice came in again, worming through Bethany’s barrier of withheld tears and concentration, but not enough to break it. “Bethany, it’s over,”

“I can do this!” the little Hawke finally snapped, though her eyes and hands never left Malcolm. “I know enough Creation magic! I can still fix him!”

“Bethany, enough,” Judith’s voice was clear and sharp like a strike of lightning; it grabbed at her attention and she wrung her grip around Bethany’s wrists. She squeezed until the green light faded. When the last speck of magic seeped back into the swirls of her fingers, she was forced to look up at her older sister. She was different from a few hours ago, when everyone was arguing at supper. Perhaps even different from a few moments ago, when Malcolm's hoarse breath still gave hope he might survive. Her flushed face had gone cold, her hazel eyes darkened. “Listen to me. Magic can stitch up cuts, pool in blood, even return a heart to beating. But once a person is gone, that’s it. Father's soul is with the Maker now. You did the best you could, but it belongs to Him, now.”

 

***

 

Bethany awoke, breath rushed and bones shaken, like rising from a pool of ice water.

When her breath slowed and feeling returned, she found herself sitting on a hard, splintered floor. The numbing cold vanished, replaced with a balmy warmth that matted down her clothes to her skin. The floor screeched as Bethany got back on her feet, but the sound did not travel far from under her heels. Haze hung in the air like curtains of sweaty, sticky bog, but she looked up and found no sun or sky. Just an endless void of grayish green spiraling overhead.

 

"Oh no," she panted, so hot the flaps of her throat felt like they might stick shut. "I'm in... I'm in... wait..." The answer was rolling in her mouth but would not push past her lips. She knew it was something she once knew, something she had to know as a mage, but the word was suddenly smudged from her mind, leaving a smeared mess of lost thoughts. "I know I should be... somewhere. I was in... in a place... with my sister? No," she shook her head, her hair feeling like jumbled curls of heavy wool, pressing her down and weaving fuzz throughout her thoughts. "My sister can't be here, I went to the Circle. She's finally free of the burden. Free of me, her and... her and..."

The floor creaked as she stood still. At her feet, the shadowy ground gained solid form, of humble wood. And from that floor, walls flipped into existence one at a time. The curtains of haze lifted, and two people popped into being, like puppets loosed from their strings onto the stage. Their backs faced her, but the sight of their black hair and familiar clothes rewrote every memory she had, as clear as ever.

"Mother! Father" she cried, eyes filming with tears. "I don't believe it! I thought I'd never see you again!"

She flung herself towards them, but their heads kept stiff and unturned. Not a single nudge to acknowledge her presence or a flinch to the clack of her boots against the floor. She opened her arms wide as she ran, but they never turned.

 

"Mother, Father, I missed you!" she gasped in overexertion as she kept running towards them. She pumped her legs as hard as she could, giving no regard to the heat pounding on her, but the distance between her and her parents remained. "Can't you... why are you just..." her run slowed into a weighted jog as she found the floor still stretched out between herself and them. She pushed a little further, one hand reached out. "I'm here, it's me, Bethany! Can't you hear me?"

She slowed, heels dragged as the same panel of wood went on forever, no matter how many times she crossed it. Malcolm and Leandra remained in the same place, as distant and as silent as when Bethany began.

"I don't understand," she said in a welled up huff. "Are you mad at me? Did I do something wrong?"

Malcom's shoulder shifted slightly. "Bethany," he said, "how could you do this? After everything I've taught you..."

"What? What did I do? Father, I don't understand. I would never go against your teachings!"

"After all this family has sacrificed," said Leandra, a sharp pain shooting up her spine, making her hunch and slink away. "You've thrown it all away. Now it's all for nothing."

"I don't know what you mean!" Bethany cried. "Please, just look at me! Tell me what I did wrong!"

She sprinted once more, but their slight movements receded, and they became like statues again. Before she could stop herself, the panels on the floor shifted, and she tripped.

She fell with her palms flat against the floor. As she wheezed with her face down and hair tumbled over her brow, she found an inky dark blue substance creep from underneath her fingernails. She sat up and turned her hands to find the stuff filling in the swirls of her fingertips and in the cracks of her palms, like a river rushing into a forked channel. She wobbled back onto her feet, and it was claiming all of her legs as well, cascading over her knees, wrapping itself around her waist like a watery ribbon. She opened her mouth to scream, but it flooded the open cavity, and she breathed through it.

The ink avoided her eyes, so she could watch as it hardened all over her body. She was consumed by a suit of coursing, pulsing, living magical armor. It leaked into the skin underneath, slowly filling in any hollow space. Her nails twisted into talons and her chest exhumed a miasma of frost.

 

"Maker's breath, a demon!" Leandra shrieked. She still would not turn to face her, but Bethany could see her back hunched in fear. "A demon has taken our daughter!"

"No, no, it's still me! I'm still here!" Bethany shouted, her words lost in the demon's skin, leaving as only garbled curses.

"We must not let this abomination walk free!" said Malcolm, turning to face her and pointing forward, but not directly at her. He was summoning someone.

Bethany turned and found Judith stepping towards her. She was in full armor, her steps clunked onto the floor with a heavy certainty. Her eyes glinted, consumed by blazing blue. Her armor radiated a power as well, one that could easily drain Bethany's dry. She could already feel the pulsation parting the channels of magic that enveloped her, to wipe away her very being in a righteous flash.

 

"Sister, wait, you don't understand," said Bethany, her words dribbled into nothing again. "No, please, you can't."

Judith made no reaction, only lifted her sword. She was solid and cold, motivated but a single duty, just like...

"Just like those moving statues," Bethany thought, the single realization illuminating a thousand more, freeing her own memories from the dreary darkness of despair and confusion. "In the manor... where we fought that demon... with my sister... who would never hurt me!"

The illusion of Judith brought down her mighty sword, but Bethany caught it between her hands. The blade cracked the demon's skin, until it split wide open, and Bethany was free. "You'll fool me no longer!" she exclaimed in triumph.

Seeing its failure, the illusion of Judith's gasped, dull eyes wide, before it poofed into blue dust. The illusion of Leandra followed, then Malcolm, and the walls flopped down and shattered, the stage dismantled.

With the dream dissolved, Bethany found herself in what looked like an abandoned courtyard. The ground was an uneven stone tiling, with lattice walls overwhelmed by iced vines. Scattered statues of unknown heroes and gods wept crystal tears.   Stone fountains spewed eternally frozen water into their bases, filled to the brim with solid ice. Above, in the endless sky, there were flickers of green, and a distant whirring like wind and lightning. But down in the courtyard, everything was colored a muted, hazy, numbing blue. Tiny flakes of ice spun endlessly in the windless air. Bethany felt like a dislodged figure in a broken snow globe, able to see glimpses of the outer world, knowing it was there, yet unable to break the glass that kept her there.

 

"How dare you," said a voice, frail and rigid, surrounding Bethany with the snowflakes. There was a scratch to the voice, like it was seethed through the space of angry, clenched teeth. "After all your family sacrificed and suffered, you think to just walk away? Your fellow mages are given no such luxury. What makes you so special?"

Bethany walked through the courtyard, fists tight against her sides, chest out, face smoothed of any strains. She would not let the demon toy with her emotions any longer. She was an Enchanter, after all.

"Grant me passage, demon," she announced to the open sky. "Show me where my sister is."

"Your sister? Why, she was back there. You should let her kill you. Then she could finally be free. Isn't that what you want?"

"I'll not play your games today. Where is she?"

"Very well," the demon was hesitant, but a stone set of arched double doors rose from the snowy ground, surrounded by frozen brambles. "Enter if you wish, but you will never rescue her. She is already frozen in time, a delicious sorrow entombed in cold countenance. I could feast on her for many years.

Bethany fought the urge to flinch. What sort of sorrow could this demon find so irresistible in her sister? With her resolve and lyrium powers, surely she was more resistant to demons than most non-mages.

She shuddered and pushed the questions away. Demons pry and worm their way in when you begin questioning, she knew that long before going to the Circle. She pushed the doors wide open and walked into the darkness.

The path ahead was blank. She did not look down, and did not wonder if there was even solid ground to walk. Her boot made no click of impact, no sound travelled with the swish of her robe, but she kept going. 

Upon her second step, a patch of barren, dried earth flared beneath her boot. On her third, the cracking of crushed pebbles and dirt filled the void. She picked up the pace, and in a few steps, the blank canvas was a valley, scorched and stained from an incoming war. There were no swords clanging or horns blaring, just the howling of wind and the snapping of embers. As the canvas expanded, Bethany followed the smoke that snaked throughout the red sky. It stemmed from a nook of little houses, once comfortably nestled between hills and plains for farmland, now torched to oblivion.

 

"This is....," Bethany squinted, desperate for something to prove her eyes wrong, but not far from the town, she found the Imperial Highway; a grand path, blocked by fire and Darkspawn. "Maker, it's Lothering. This is the day we fled."

She turned and ran in the other direction. The scene was laid out before her, but it was based on her sister's memory, not her own. She swerved along the dead tree and ran across the ledge of the valley--all vaguely familiar, give or take a few sharpened cliffs--hoping Judith remembered this day the way she had.

"Sister?" she cried out. "Judith, where are you? Please, follow my voice!"

The sky reddened the earth throbbed; the whole valley shuddered against the intrusion of an unknown force, urging Bethany to run faster. On a wide plateau, she found her sister.

Hawke was on her knees, in scratched Fereldem army issued armor. Her proud form was collapsed and frozen. Her short hair did not bristle against the wind, her fresh scars did not weep, her sister's cries did not reach her.

"Judith," Bethany knelt down and placed her hands on her sister's shoulders. She could not feel the warmth of skin or rushing blood, but she persisted. "Please, I know you're in there! I know it's frightening, but this isn't real, and you're strong! You can overcome this, I know you can. Just follow my voice!"

The pounding of the earth persisted, harder and faster than before, rocks leaping with every thud. Whatever force that caused the ground to quake was coming closer. Bethany turned and saw two horns prodding from the horizon, and she immediately knew.

"Judith, please!" she cried. "The Blight is over! Don't give the demon the power, don't give into despair! Please, you're all I have left!" 

Hawke lifted her head, but her eyes were clouded, and her face stiff, no sign that she could tell her sister was there. Hawke blinked, and there was a flash of darkness, and Bethany found herself on the other side of the valley. She began to run the same distance, but was tugged at her wrist by a great strength. She turned and saw the likeness of Aveline--as cold and emotionless as Hawke was--holding her back. Leandra and Wesley stood close by, all made of spare paint and indifference. Just background characters to fill this desolate vista. Their only role was to ensure the story played out as the creator intended, and to stop any interference.

 

Bethany did not bother reasoning with the Aveline, knowing it wasn't truly her. She tried to pull herself from her grip, shouting to Hawke, "You don't have to relive this, sister! It's over, you saved us! We got out safe! None of this is your fault!"

 

The ogre emerged from the horizon, and Bethany's cries fell to a whimper. It was so obvious, there was one character left. "No... no, sister, please..."

 

The ogre's muscles contorted, throbbing veins and coarse hide, as it stampeded towards Hawke. It was bigger than Bethany remembered, a mountainous beast that blotted out the pale sun and cast a wide shadow on the valley, drenching herself and the 'others' in darkness. A mouth of sharp, uneven teeth glowered at Hawke, coated with drool and blood. But it did not attack her, and she did not react to it. Hawke remained on her knees while the ogre thrashed about, a primal show of its own power, until it made a violent jerk. It whipped its arm in the other direction and snarled in confusion, as if something were controlling its body from the inside.

Bethany continued to writhe in vain against Aveline's hold, watching helplessly as the ogre howled and flailed about, her sister in harm's way, but never reacting. A lump in the ogre's back traveled upwards, it tried to reach for it, but its coordination was too flimsy. The lump protruded until it ripped through the ogre's flesh. It howled in pain, splashes of blood spurting from every orifice. Its thrashing turned to weak wriggles, howls turned to whines, until it collapsed. The lump that prodded through the ogre's body took form; a person, rising from bended knee.

Bethany managed to tear herself from Aveline long enough to get a closer look. She ran, reaching out for her sister, but Aveline caught her again, and Wesley came to help restrain her. Locked in their restraint, she saw a young man stand. He wore the same armor Hawke did. He had the same proud Ferelden features she did; stern chin and wide jaw line. He had the same Hawke family features, too; protruding triangular nose and thick brow, though his hair was black, like Bethany's.

"No," she gasped, blinking away the film of tears. "No, no, not this. Please, not this."

"Carver...?" said Hawke, the sight of him stirring her, breathing a voice back into her, though it and her whole body trembled with uncertainty. Her ankles jumbled like a newborn fawn's as she approached him. "Is it truly you?"

"Yes, sister," Carver said softly with a nod. "It's me."

Hearing his voice was too much. Hawke threw himself onto him, no care to the gore around her. She clasped her arms around him and sobbed into his shoulder. "I can't believe you're alive! I thought I'd never see you again!"

"I'm here, sister," he said, patting his hands on her back. "It's over now. We can be a family again."

"I thought," she sniffed and swallowed, unable to stop herself from flooding her words with tears. "I thought I had... it was all my fault, I wasn't fast enough, or smart enough... it was... it was..."

"Eating you alive?"

"Yes," she said, her whole body unhinging as she cried, as if she'd been holding back every tear for years.

"Oh Judith," Bethany said to herself, ashamed that she never knew, and that she never foresaw it.

But she twitched; something was not right, even for a display so perverse. This was the work of a Despair Demon. It would not be enough for such a creature to lull the victim into a state of false happiness. A moment of hope and happiness, only to deepen the sadness later. This was still part of the bait, so there was still time to get her sister out before being devoured.

Bethany stopped her struggle against the illusions of Aveline and Wesley. She relaxed her muscles, going limp in their strong arms, pooling magical energy into her thoughts. Before the illusions could drag her away, her body exuded a flash of light, disorienting them. While they stumbled, she summoned a ring of fire, surrounding all three illusions, until the flames licked at their disguises. They screeched in agony as clothes and skin disintegrated, leaving three shades to burn.

"The Hawke sisters will not be kept prisoner here by the likes of demons!" she proclaimed. 

Judith turned her head slightly at the commotion, but Carver put his head on the back of her head.

"Judith!" Bethany cried, running up to them.

"Bethany, isn't it wonderful?" said Hawke, her face a red, teary mess. "Carver is alive! We're a family again!"

"Judith, I... I know you wouldn't want me to sugarcoat. We have always been a family, and no amount of loss will change that. Even if the two of us should separate, it won't change that fact." 

"Wh, what do you mean?"

Bethany clenched her fists and swallowed hard, trying to steel herself against the pained look of her sister. "Judith, you practically raised Carver. You know him, better than he knew himself. You know he doesn't talk like this, and he's never this calm. Do you remember how mad he got when you told him not to enlist with you? When your mabari came to you, not him? Do you remember the fight you go in with Mother because she told me she wished she'd died along with Carver, right to my face? That's not our brother. Our brother is gone, and I think you know it."

"What?" Hawke was still in shambles, eyes red and watery, every word soaked with tears.

"How could my own twin speak of me like that?" said Carver as his hands slid up Hawke's back, over her shoulder blades, until they rested on her neck. "I am indeed the brother you lost. The one you failed to save."

"No, Judith!" said Bethany, "it's the work of a demon! It's not Carver!"

"But he knows I failed him," said Hawke, her eyes dim, "so it must be him."

"That's right," said Carver, fingers curling. "You left me to die. You allowed it to happen."

"I did."

"And it happened again, didn't it? Every time this family needed you, you failed them."

"I did fail them."

"You love to needle and nag your family and friends, but you're never there for them when they truly need it. You pretend to be collected and perfect, but you're the worst of them all."

"...I know."

"I was your little brother. How could you abandon me like that?"

"I... I didn't intend to... I'm sorry."

“Sorry’s not good enough!” he hollered. The skin on his knuckles tightened as he squeezed her neck. “You let me die! Why didn’t you help me when I needed you?”

"Stop it!" Bethany squealed. In a hurry, she flicked ice magic from her fingertips, but Carver flung the back of his hand and bashed it to powder. Without a spell at her disposal that wouldn't hurt her sister as well, she grabbed Hawke by the shoulders and tried to yank her from the illusion's grip. "Judith, he's too strong, and you're making him strong! It has to be you! You can break his control! Please, please, let go!"

Hawke's face began to swell as Carver's fingers clenched into her neck, squeezing out tears that ran down red cheeks. "I let... him... die..."

"No, you didn't! Carver charged that ogre by himself. It was his choice, he was trying to protect Mother. It may have been reckless, but he would want you to move forward! He didn't sacrifice himself so you could ruin your life over it! Don't waste what he did for us!"

A struggling whimper escaped Hawke's lips. Bethany felt her muscles tensing, fighting back, even through the thick of her armor.

"I love you, Judith," she said. "Please don't leave me."

The whimper turned into a groan, and Hawke slowly stood up. She grabbed Carver's hands and pried them off her neck, and once she was free, she brought a solid fist to his jaw.

The punch knocked Carver down, and when his back hit the ground, the illusion erupted in a ring of smoke. A shade rose from the ring and lunged for Hawke. She rose her hand, and her sword appeared in a flash of light. She swung, and the blade ripped through the shade, tattered grey flaps of skin dispersed to nothingness.

When the shade was dead, Hawke fell to one knee, balancing herself with her sword. Hard, heavy breaths, and gobs of tears all spewed from her face.

Bethany sighed in relief and eased her hand over Hawke's back. "Oh Judith, I'm so glad you're all right."

"Andraste forgive me," she said, coarse and raspy. "It was so real. I thought I was strong enough. I thought, if there was one thing I was good at in this world, it was killing demons."

"You are, but we're in the demon's domain. With the Veil's frailty here, all those templars it had...it was powerful enough to transport itself and all of us to the Fade."

"Maker," Hawke gasped as Bethany helped her back on her feet. "What of Sebastian? How did you even find me?"

"I had to cross the Fade during my Harrowing. The demon tried to trap me, and no doubt he's doing that to Sebastian. We must find him, then together we can defeat the demon, and we may yet rescue the templars." 

"Just tell me what I need to do to save them."

"The demon was so sure I'd never free you, so it allowed me passage. I don't know if it will do so again. Traversing the Fade is no simple thing. We must look for indications of Sebastian's presence, some symbol or familiar thig, and unravel the dream the demon is keeping him in. And Judith, it has to be you who does it. You know him, you have to use reason. Don't allow yourself to be overwhelmed by the demon's tricks, never question the way you feel."

Hawke nodded, "I understand."

"I... I'm just so sorry. I knew you blamed yourself for Carver's death, but I didn't... I had no idea, after all this time, I told myself you'd be fine. I'm sorry, I should've..."

"Ssh, come now, no tears," Hawke cooed, holding her sister close, resting her chin on her scalp. "It's not your fault. I hid it from everyone, myself included."

"You're doing it again, being strong just to protect me. You can't do this all the time, you'll kill yourself."

"I know, but this isn't the time. We have to act now if we have any hope of rescuing Sebastian and those templars. We need to be strong."

"I understand. But promise me, when we're done, you won't bury your feelings like this anymore."

"I promise."

 

As Bethany released herself from her sister's warm, safe hug, the orange sky melted. Every wisp of cloud and ray of sunlight dripped and drizzled to the ground, drained into the earth until every color was sucked dry. Every rock, ledge, and tree flopped downward, and swirled together as a single leak of black. She watched the whole valley get erased, the canvas turning itself blank, then she looked down and saw her shoes turned transparent. It traveled up her robe, undoing every thread.

 

"What's happening?" said Hawke, grabbing her sister's hand, until it phased through her grasp.

"I'll be fine, I'll find you," said Bethany. "Just remember what I said. The demon is strong, but so are you!"


	21. Blood in the River

Chapter Twenty One: Blood in the River

 

"I don't know if I'll ever get used to this place," said Hawke. Sebastian sat next to her on the elongated pew, watching her mystified face behind a barrier of hair. She played with it a bit, flicked the loose strands that hung over her face, as he would later learn it was a habit of hers, when she felt nervous or awkward. "It's so big and empty. And... vertical."

"The Chantry does house many," he replied proudly, "not only all who serve, but all who need shelter and succor."

"Of course."

"What did you mean by 'vertical'?"

"I lived in small villages through Ferelden all my life. Most of them had spherical chapels as their Chantries, so the whole village could sit around and sing the Chant and listen to stories about Andraste."

"I've never been to such a Chantry. I can see how this might seem so strange. Andraste was born in Ferelden, your relationship with Her is surely different."

"I think some of the larger cities had buildings more like these, with these long benches, but I'm not sure. This is the first city I've ever lived in."

"Are you settled in Hightown?"

"That's what I wanted to discuss. As long as you're staying in the Chantry..."

"Do you wish to confess something?"

"I suppose so. I know we've only spoken a few times here and there, in the Keep. But I don't feel comfortable unloading my problems onto my friends. Mine are small and manageable, it wouldn't be right."

"It's not a contest. You have as much a right to feel frustrated as anyone else. I'm sure your friends would hear you out. And I hope... that includes me."

She pushed away some of the hair to look at him directly, and smiled. "It does. All right, then, informal friend-to-friend confession. Here goes... my mother and I have been fighting. I thought once I got the Amell Estate back things would be better, but..."

"What did the two of you argue about before?"

"When we were in Lowtown, I had to take any job I could find. I would come home late at night, and sometimes I would bring my little sister along, put her in danger. I think ultimately she understood, but she would get mad at the way I tried to explain myself, she thought I was talking down to her. Like I thought I was perfect. Maybe I do that. But then one night, Bethany told me that Mother told her she wish she had died in Lothering. In the..." There was a slight tremble in her words, and Hawke retracted. She took a deep breath, collecting herself. "During the Blight. I was furious at her, for saying such a thing to Bethany. For being so reckless with her feelings, putting that guilt on her youngest daughter."

"It is a harsh thing to say to one's child, but it's also hard to be considerate when we're in such pain. It seems none of you escaped the Blight unscathed."

"I suppose not. But the Estate was her home. I thought it would fix things, but now new things need to be fixed. Now she has all of her hopes and dreams pinned on me. She tries to set me up with other young nobles, criticizes the way I eat and dress. Nothing I do is ever enough. Often I take more jobs just to stay away longer. Even now, it's nice to be away, in this quiet space."

Sebastian slipped a hand under his Chantry robes and fished out a silver locket, engraved with two fish, swimming in perfect parallel. "Hawke, do you remember this?"

"It's the locket I found on one of the Flint Company Mercenaries. I think you said it was your grandmother's?"

"That's right, it was. She originally came from Antiva, gave a lot up just to be with my grandfather. She was the one who would bring me food when I was locked in my room without supper. She would sometimes help me escape the castle so I could run off into town. She would even scold my parents when they shouted at me, when they called me a shame to the family, although grandfather would have to hold her back. I don't think anyone was more heartbroken than she, when I left for the Chantry and screamed, disowned each and every one of them."

"You were young, and hurt. She must've known you loved her."

"Thank you, but I do not bring this up to shift the focus to me. I know what the noble life is like, Hawke. Everyone expects the world of you, and the smallest of mistakes can undo it all. But it's not worth punishing yourself all the time. You've worked hard to get to where you are, you shouldn't spend it avoiding confrontations."

"But I'm never going to be what she wants me to be."

"And what do you want to be?"

"I don't know... I've never been idle, I wasn't raised the way she was. I don't know how to be a noble like she imagines, and I don't know that I can ever be one. I would rather try to help people still suffering than to sip tea in a petticoat and pat myself on the back."

"That seems a worthy cause. Does your mother know this is what you want?"

Hawke sighed. "No, I haven't discussed it with her."

"I know it's difficult, but things will never get any better until you talk about it. If nothing else, you can make your opinion known, and if she still doesn't agree, you'll know you've done all you could."

"I understand. It's not as thought Mother is vehemently against what I do. But Bethany was her little darling, and I fear she's moving all her hopes to me."

"If it would help, I could give you some pointers on etiquette, and I know most of the noble families in the Free Marches, to varying degrees."

Hawke looked at him with wide eyes, as if she could not process his offer. "You would do that for me?"

He chuckled. "Oh, I think I can spare a few tips on dance steps and proper greetings to the woman who came in my hour of need."

"Yes, but I dealt with those mercenaries, and Lady Harriman, for money. It was business. What you're offering is a true kindness, I would still be in debt to you."

"I would say your friendship is enough, but I know you're a principled woman. Why don't you just promise me to use it for good? Show Kirkwall the other meaning of nobility. Perhaps even, show me I don't need to fear the court."

"That sounds more like a challenge than a favor."

"Too much, is it?" he smirked.

"I didn't think they let smartasses become Chantry brothers," she retorted with a playful shove against his shoulder. "Nevertheless, I'll accept that challenge."

"That's what I like to hear. I knew I was following you around for a reason."

 

***  

Sebastian shifted through folds of thick, humid fog; for how long, he could not tell, as there seemed to be just as much behind him as there was ahead. He pressed onward, and his feet clumped against soggy mud. Sweat sank in the creases of his forehead, the fog consumed all open air, filling his pores with heavy, billowy haze. Sound could not escape the puffy barrier of the fog, so every grunt he made against the strain of his slowed steps surrounded him. There was the faint beginning of a voice off in the distance, like a wind chime dangling softly in the breeze, and it compelled him to move forward. But he clomped against the mud and muck, no closer to the end than when he started.

The water rose, swallowing the mud and Sebastian's feet. He pushed on until it covered his calves, then up his legs. By the time it pooled around his waist, there was a breach in the fog. The curtains of grey broke, allowing sweet air to wriggle through, and the voice floated freely, though the words were still muffled and uncertain. In the break, Sebastian found the faint silhouette of a castle. He swished further through the water, and saw the castle sat atop a hill, with a town of white stone and open roads flowing underneath. Against the thinning curtains of fog, the city shone like it was made of pearls.

 

"I'm in Starkhaven?" Sebastian mumbled. "Did I... walk all the way back? Through the Minater River? But why would I do that? Wasn't I... somewhere? I was, with... with..."

His head throbbed in search of an answer, and the voice stopped. Even as it dissipated, the fog seemed to be everywhere, seeping through every hair on his head, leaking onto every thought until his mind was a sopping mess.

"I, I must have come for a reason," he told himself, resolving to find the edge of the river and simply walk back home.

He did not get far. Bubbles rose in the water in front of him, bursting in furious succession. A scalp emerged from the depths, wearing the silver laurel-shaped crown. Then, a pair of glossy blue eyes stared back at him. He pedaled in horror as a face looked back at him, pickled pale from being in the water. Then broad shoulders emerged from the river, then a chest, and a waist.

 

It was a young man; he had the same curved nose and full lips as Sebastian, but taller and thinner. Were he not covered in cuts and wrinkles, he would have been a statuesque, regal figure.

 

"Brother," the corpse-like man said in calm, velvety brogue. "You've come home, you've returned to us."

Pain shot up from the bottom of Sebastian's submerged feet and up his spine. "B, Baldwin," he spat out. 

"And you remember my name. How wonderful. It is so good to see you again."

"I don't understand. You're alive."

"Ah, sweet, simple Sebastian," Baldwin chuckled, running a finger along the deep slice over his neck, lining over the crust of deep set blood. "Well, I suppose you never ran off with tavern goers and the wyvern-master's daughter to discuss philosophy. What is life, after all? What is death? But you never needed to worry about such things. You were young, eager, and pretty. Everything good about the Vael line in you, wasted on you."

Baldwin's eyes glinted, slowly trudging the water, closer to Sebastian. "But that's why you got to live. Isn't it amusing, or does the irony escape you? You did everything wrong, wasted everything given to you, and you were sent away. So you got to live."

Sebastian's eyes began to water, his throat clogged. "Baldwin, I... don't think this does not haunt me. I went after those that did the deed, but..."

"Oh, yes, well done!" lauded Baldwin, feigning praise. "You killed a few hired thugs and an old woman. That settles that, then, doesn't it? Clearly you're the leader our city needs. To think, you actually thought to simply come back and take my throne like we never existed. All because some Dog Lord tramp thinks you should.”

Sebastian blinked away the tears and scowled, his body tensed. “Be as mad at me as you want, brother, but do not talk that way of Hawke!”

“Or else what? You’ll pay her to kill me, too? A bit late for that. You always did run to the nearest skirt to hide behind when things got too hard for you. I suppose people never truly change.”

Sebastian backed away, steps slowed by the swill of water; the levels climbed from his hips up to his ribs. Beads of sweat ran down his brow as the river rose. The breach closed, shutting away the picture of Starkhaven, sealing away breathable air. Fingers of foam and fog clawed at him, bubbles boiling around him.

His older brother was not stifled by the waters; he glided through the distance, grin of cracked lips and dead teeth growing wider. “Where are you going, little brother? Don’t you want to stay for the reunion?”

“Reunion…?” Sebastian barely spat out the word when his back met an unknown surface. Before he could turn, two decrepit hands grabbed his arms.

“You belong with family, Sebastian."

Dead fingers clneched into him, and his legs flailed in vain in the water. He looked up and saw it was his second brother, Damian, identical in face to Baldwin, but broader and stronger in build.

 

"Did you miss me, too, Sebastian?" he said. "Or are you too holy now? Does Andraste's love give you comfort, when you think of how we were butchered in our own home, down to the last babe?"

 

More bubbles burst and gave way to more people, each one with a face Sebastian recognized, under films of wrinkled, pasty death. Some were old, some were young. All water splattered with blood, despite rising from water; a filth that would never come out. A silver-haired woman with drooping black eyes emerged from the river, sobbing as she carried a silent infant.

"Oh Maker," Sebastian gasped, unable to hold back the tears. He went limp in his brother's grasp. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry, I tried to avenge you."

 

"It's not your fault!" a voice resounded throughout the river, ehcoing from every angle. "None of this is your fault!"

"It does not matter whose fault it was," Damian lashed out, "not any longer. Sebastian is the least of us, unfit to carry the name or title."

"As Prince of Starkhaven," said Baldwin, his voice a cold decree, "I demand the last of the Vael lineage be wiped from the face of the mortal plane., that his soul may dwell here, with the rest of us."

"This is for the best," said Sebastian, defeated. "I should have died with them, it's the truth."

"No it's not," the voice cried out, a spike of pain stressing every syllable. "I may not have known your family, but this cannot be them. They are already at the Maker's side. Why would they resent you now, after all this time?"

"Resentment is not some fleeting spark," said an elderly man, tall and proud of build, even in his state, with his chest cleaved open and weeping.

"It cannot be put out," moaned the old woman with the infant. "It swims in the river of sorrow, ebbing and flowing, but always there. It swims in your blood, it carries us all."

Sebastian broke out in sobs again. "I'm sorry... Grandfather, Grandmother..."

"Sebastian," said the disembodied voice. "Don't you remember what you told me? It was always so clear your grandparents loved you. They wanted you to have a childhood, to find your place in the world."

"But I can't make up for all the lives that were lost. I can never be enough. I would only disgrace the name."

 

The corpses of his family paid no more mind to his sobbing pleas. They moved through the river, encircling him. The ones closest, in the inner circle, put their clammy hands on his face and shoulders, pushing him downward.

All the air had been sucked out, leaving only water and the stench of their death. Sebastian's face become hot and flustered, no strength or will to struggle against them as they submerged him. "I'm sorry," he said once more, between a whimper and a gurgle as his head was dunked in.

A collective of dead eyes watched from the other side as he lay in the water. Their faces warbled and blurred as he sank further down. After a while, their hands left him, and the river could do the rest of the work. Bubbles of his breath and tears floated to the surface without him. The last burning thread inside him that told him to fight, to live, went cold.

"Sebastian!" the voiced echoed from below, jumbled from the water, but clearly spoke him name. "Blessed Andraste, don't take him from me, too," With the last of his strength, he turned over and found an opening white light, waiting for him at the bottom of the river. He had no power to swim, but the words seemed to gently tug him and pull him down faster. As the light touched his armor, it blew away all the water, and he fell to his knees, on solid ground, completely dry.

"Stay with me," the voice pleaded. As his strength returned, he felt his head against someone's lap, and someone's hands on his back. "All this time, you were trying to convince me life was still worth living, that one is more than their failures, not to be forever burdened with guilt for surviving. I thought I could work through it, tuck the pain in forever, but I couldn't. And that's all right, because I still have people I still care for, people who care about me. My life is worth something, and so is yours. So please, Sebastian, do not give into despair."

 

Sebastian curled his fingers and found the fabric of blue armor. "H, Hawke," he whimpered. "It was you."

"I'm glad you were able to hear me," she looked down at him, smiling.

The ground shuddered, and her smile faded. "Wait here," she said, standing up and drawing her sword.

 

They stood in a desolate courtyard, cold and blue. A swarm of shades rose from the cracks in the ground, wailing in frustration. They swam towards Hawke, but she slashed through their tattered robes. She gave herself space with a wide, arcing swing, then planted her blade in the ground. Sebastian watched in awe, still too weak to stand, as Hawke exuded light that turned the Fade creatures to dust.

 

She turned back, breathing heavily. "Are you all right?" she said, extending an opened hand to him. "Can you stand?"

Sebastian took her hand and wobbled, but summoned enough strength to life himself up, before collapsing onto Hawke. "Oh Judith," he sobbed, soaking the fabric on her shoulder. "It was horrible. It felt so real, they were all back, and they hated me so much. They made me want to... to give up."

"I know, I know," she said, holding him tight. "It happened to me, too. The demon means to keep us here, feed on our despair until we are used up husks."

"Wait," he said, looking past her shoulder and seeing a collection of black spires, hanging from floating rock in the distance like a ominous, ever-present raincloud. "Oh Maker," he gasped, his voice spiked with panic. "We're truly in the Fade. Hawke, I should not be here. This is not right at all. I need to leave now, right now. Please, Hawke."

"Ssh, ssh, it will be all right," Hawke said in her most soothing voice. "All we have to do is defeat the demon, and we can all go home. We've defeated demons before, we can do this. Can you still fight?"

"I..." Sebastian reached for his back and found his bow and quiver full of arrows still there. He made a fist with mode hands and felt a warm tingle overcome him, returning his vitality. "Yes, I believe so. But how will we find this demon? How are we ever going to get out?"

"Bethany found me, and I found you, so hope is not lost." Hawke tugged at Sebastian's hand and led him through the Fade courtyard. They walked through an open plaza, covered in frozen brambles, frosted sprouts sticking out of the cracks. "Demons cannot create something from nothing, after all. Everything we see now, including out nightmares, is a reflection of something from the mortal world. I called out for you, and found myself in a town, as you described Starkhaven had looked like. Then, a voice urged me to follow. It led me to a door with the Starkhaven insignia on, and I was in the Minater River. It was like... I was the river, watching these people claim to be your family."

"But the voice I heard was yours, was it not?"

"That was me leading you, but someone was leading me. At first I thought it was the Despair Demon, but it... felt different. I can always detect demons, but this was different. And I... I just had to find you, I was willing to take that risk."

Sebastian froze in his tracks and squeezed Hawke's hand. She turned back to him, wondering why they had stopped. "Sebastian, I know you're scared, but we mustn't waste any time. I have no idea how long the templars have been trapped, but we can still save them if we..."

"I love you, Judith," he blurted out, his face flushed and weeping, but his words firm and clear. "I love you so much."

"I..." Hawke's eyes widened and she blushed, the resolve in her face snapped for a moment, but she shook the sense back into her head. "Sebastian, we can't do this here. We need to press onward."

"But I need you to know. I thought I needed to help you, but you saved me! Despite everything that happened, you still had the strength to move forward and fight! You are... so strong, brilliant, amazing... you're everything I could have hoped for."

Hawke's face grew cold. She lowered her eyes, and the blush receded. "Listen," she said softly, removing her hand from Sebastian's. "I care about you, too, but I can't let you do this to me. You're constantly going back and forth on what path you should take, prince or priest. You may say you love me now, but in a few weeks, maybe even in a few days, you'll find some reason to swear yourself to the Chantry anew, and think me some corrupting temptress."

"I would never! I don't ever want to hurt you."

"Can you honestly tell me that won't happen? So you love me, what next? Are you going to walk up to the Grand Cleric and confirm all her fears, take back everything you said to her again?"

Sebastian sniffled, wiping away the sweat and tears, trying to steel his face. "I... I understand, Hawke. I'm sorry. I keep saying the wrong things to you at the worst times."

"I know your intentions are good," she sighed. "That's what I appreciate most about you, you're always trying to do good, and you're kind. Don't change that part. But the Fade is probably not the place to confess one's love, all right?"

Sebastian chuckled. "All right, Hawke. I'm sorry. Let's rescue those templars and go home."     

She took his hand again, and they continued walking through the plaza, until the brambles bunched up and consumed the hall. The floor underneath became less tile and more grass and vines. They meshed together and arced, forming a tunnel of ice and green, frozen droplets eternally hanging from leaves on the roof like little lanterns.

At the end of the hall, stood a woman with grayish wheat hair. She was thin and frail of build, like the slightest breeze could blow her over, and she dressed in plain leather with fur linings for warmth. She turned and looked upon the two with tired, yet calming eyes.

"You came," she said, smiling. "You heard me."

Hawke stomped in front of Sebastian with her sword drawn out. "Explain yourself. What is your business here? You don't resonate the power of a demon, but not a human, either."

"A human I was, once. I suppose you could call me a spirit. My name is Una."

"Una..." Hawke flinched. "Then you are what remains of the apostate, trapped in the Despair Demon's domain?"

"I wish that were all to it. My body yet walks the earth. Raised through magic so corrupt, it thinned the Veil, allowing this demon to pass and wreak havoc in the waking world. The Planese Forest is as much its domain as this portion of Raw Fade."

Sebastian could see the chill overtake Hawke, as she said, "Someone used necromancy? That... that's why Meredith thought you still roamed the earth, looking the same age?"

"Hawke, are you all right?" said Sebastian, placing his hand on her shoulder.

"I, will be," she said, returning the gesture by clasping her other hand over his and forcing a smile. "Now that I know what we must do to end this chaos."

"I want to help," said Una. "I felt myself going back to my body, but this demon caught me first. I've been its prisoner, helpless to watch all its done with my body. It killed one of the people in my care, and now the others are trapped, the same as your templars. I will lead you to the demon's inner sanctum, but please, when it is done, allow my friends to leave."

Hawke winced, uncertain. "The Knight Commander sent me, but I am not her lackey. I was sent here to rescue templars, not pursue more apostates, save for you. If they pose no threat to Kirkwall, I will let them escape."

"Thank you, and I promise they won't. I only ever wanted them to live peaceful lives."   

Una lead them further into the hall of brambles. "You're all very strong," she said. "I've watched others ensnared by this demon, consumed by its nightmares. I would always tried to lead them to clarity, but all I can do is talk to them. I pray you are strong enough to endure one more battle."

"Do you know if the templars are in nightmares as well?"

"The templars and my friends are still alive, but time is running out. The demon is already very powerful. It saw you as interesting prey, where the others... it thought to save them all together, like a spider wrapping flied caught in its nest. You can save them all, but you must defeat it now."

"What will happen to you? To the creature in your body?"

"The demon traps us both. If it is slain, I hope my soul can finally be free again, to be at the Maker's side... or wherever souls are supposed to go. As for the... imposter, slaying the demon may not kill it, but it will be significantly weaker. If you can kill the demon, you can kill it, too."

At the end of the tunnel, Una motioned her hand upward, and a set of stone doors rose from the earth, crushing brambles in its wake.

"The demon waits for you here. Your sister will be there, as well. I am... so sorry for all the pain I've caused, all the destruction, and I can only do so much to help stop it."

"Magic... is dangerous," said Hawke, clumsily attempting to be comforting. "As is any tool used without proper knowledge. And... despair, as I've learned, can be harmful. This... friend of yours, however misguided, must have missed you greatly. I know the pain of losing someone you love. I almost pushed the people I cared about away."

"Yes," Una said in a broken, tearless sob. "I watched my friends all cry, as they tried to subdue the creature. Wishing they had done more for him. Wishing they had talked about it more, and that despair made them vulnerable to the demon, in turn."

"Well, it ends here," said Hawke, pushing the doors wide open.

Sebastian stood next to her, and squeezed her hand one last time, smiling, as the light on the other side enveloped them.

A soft, "Thank you," resounded as they entered.


	22. Despair

Chapter Twenty Two: Despair

 

Hawke stepped across the doorway, and her foot skid across ice.

"Careful!" said Sebastian as he grabbed her by the wrists, and lifted her back up.

"Thank you," she said.  

She kept her feet firm and walked around the lake of ice in front of the door, then circumnavigated through the other lakes, all scattered about the valley. Broken pillars and giant, headless statues loomed overhead, fencing themselves between the open area and the frost-tipped woods in the distance. A small distortion of air rippled in the distance. Hawke and Sebastian walked to it, and Bethany popped out, falling into her sister's arm.

"There you are," said Hawke in relief, hugging her sister.

"Did you... see Una, as well?" asked Bethany.

"Yes. She showed us the way to the demon."

"That poor woman. Some of the older enchanters in the Circle spoke of her, only fondly. I don't know if I'll have the heart to tell them the truth when I return."

"Hopefully she will be free when we kill this demon."

"We will. I am glad to see you are all right, sister. And you rescued Sebastian from his nightmare. Without too much trouble, I hope."

"It was horrible," said Sebastian, "I am uncomfortable as is in this place. But... Hawke has been there for me, many times, and I wish to do the same."

Another distortion flared in the center of the valley, a whirl of howling winds and swirls of razor ice. From the center of the vortex, the demon emerged.

"It is pointless," it said. "Anger, lust, envy, all fleeting things. But despair, a stain on your very soul. There is no use fighting it. Even if you defeat me, it will claim you one day. Come, do not trouble yourself fighting the tide. I can do better this time."

Uninterested in further delay, Hawke plunged her sword into the demon's chest. It made a deep, ominous laugh, as it held the blade and formed ice, crackling along the edge. She yanked it out and slashed, the blade shredding the very ends of its robes, but little else. The demon floated up above her, still laughing.

 

Bethany and Sebastian took the opportunity and fired into the air; Bethany flicking flame from her staff, Sebastian his arrows. The demon swerved around in the sky, dodging most of the incoming fire, until an arrow pierced its chest and it plummeted down. As it thud into the snow, Bethany waved her staff, power building in slow, letting the flame collect mana until she could barely hold it. The magic became so concentrated, her hands burdened with the energy, she made a throwing motion, and the fire spiraled through the valley and crashed into the snow bank like a comet.

 

The snow melted all around the demon, and the flames ate its robes, leaving a creature of charred bones and teeth. It screamed in pain, flying erratically across the ice. Hawke chased it, swiping for it when it came close to Bethany, but then it jerked to the other side, throwing itself into the trees, spreading the flames.

 

From its pain, ripples of magic sparked from every corner of the valley, spewing  shades, and an Arcane Horror from the biggest one.

 

"Get back, you two," Hawke commanded to her companions. "Bethany, keep the shades off me. Sebastian, try to keep the demon pinned down while I kill this thing."

 

Hawke heard the sound of glyphs flaring immediately, so she charged in with confidence. The Arcane Horror wove a spell between it long, curling claws, but she struck the snow with her sword and flashed lyrium-powered light, disrupting its magic and tossing aside nearby shades. It tried to float away, but she slashed at it. The Horror flashed a spark of lightning, grazing her shoulder plate, but leaving itself open again for a quick, deep cut.

 As the Horror died and faded to nothing, a flurry of icy dagger rained from the sky. She looked up and saw the Despair Demon.

 

"He was so young," it gargled in fiery torment. "So promising. What right do you have living when you left Carver to die?"

Hawke winced, but puffed up her chest and raised her sword. "If you have a problem with me," she spit back, "why don't you come saw it to my face?"

"You did not even burn his body, you left him to the Darkspawn. But you will burn!" The demon cackled, still throwing ice spells while being consumed by Bethany's flame spell. It danced on treetops, turning their icy peaks to burning needles. It circled the valley around and around, avoiding every arrow, turning its inner sanctum into a messy clash of ice and fire.

"Hawke," Sebastian cried, "I'm out of arrows!"

"I can get it!" said Bethany. She waved her staff again, but in a more grounded, sterner motion. She planted her feet as firmly as she could in the snow, held her staff high in the air, then slammed it down like a hammer. The magic that flowed from her staff echoed her movement, pushed the gravity down around the demon, smacking it out of the air.

With the other Fade denizens destroyed, Hawke's path was clear. The demon fumbled, floating inches trying to raise itself up, only to fall back down. It had a jagged spine, scorched from the flame, hollowed eyes glaring at her. It cracked a smile--as much as one could with a face full of teeth--and chuckled one last time as it spat needles of ice into one of the cracked pillars. It toppled over, cast a shadow onto Sebastian, too massive to escape.

 

"Despair will always find you," the demon laughed against Hawke's scream, and just before she plunged her sword into its skull. "Despair will always win."


	23. One Step at a Time

Chapter Twenty Three: One Step At a Time

 

Once they awoke and recovered, Hawke lead the templars to the manor's cellar, to retrieve Una's body. She uttered a small prayer as they burned her body in the manor's courtyard.

"You've done Kirkwall a great service, Champion," said one.

"That you were able to take down a demon, one that had subdued all of us..." said another, in awe.

"I didn't do it alone," she said. "My sister was a huge help. Remember that. A well-trained Circle mage should be an ally, not a liability."

"But this apostate, she was..."

"She was fighting this demon, and she held out for a long time. She withstood and fought it longer than any of us. Yes, she ran, but that should not erase what was good about her. We should take great care that we do not lose or push away the ones already in control, and protect and guide the ones still afraid."   

Some of the younger templars nodded, still looking upon her with admiration. She did not fool herself, thinking a few prudent words might revolutionize the whole Order, but perhaps it could work as a start, for when she had the strength and influence to challenge the Knight Commander.

She walked back to the solar. The ice had all melted, any remnants of the Fade or its denizens had dissolved from the manor. Bethany was still healing Sebastian, little buds of green light hovering over his chest. His armor was scuffed and tattered, but his closed eyelids were relaxed, face clean.

 

"He looks better already," she said, kneeling down to check on him.

"There were small, scattered injuries," said Bethany. "You killed the demon and freed us as soon as he was hurt, so it's not proportional to what he suffered in the Fade."

"So if we had been in there any longer..."

"Even to the templars, their time in the Fade was but a night's sleep. For us, an afternoon nap. We were lucky, in a way. Despair Demons like to bide their time, to wait for a glimmer of hope before dashing it."

"You were so strong, to break its compulsion on your own."

Bethany smiled. "Even when I was alone, you helped. The demon tried to tell me my family didn't want me, but I knew that wasn't true. I knew you would always look out for me."

"The templars seems to have all recovered, and we searched the place. No more demons or shades or anything. We're ready to go... whenever Sebastian here is done with his beauty sleep."

"I've mended the broken ribs. He should be all better, just needs to wake up."

"I knew you could do it, Bethany. Thank you."

"Don't give me too much credit," she said, her voice low and soft like the pitters of rain of the grass around them. "Father only taught me the basics of Creation magic, not that I was very good at it to begin with. And the Circle did not teach me more than I already know. But I'm glad I could help."

"Hey, you've come a long way since then."

"We both have."

"Yes..." Hawke smiled. "Yes, we have."

Bethany titled her head up, and studied her sister's face. Hawke's bangs slicked over her eyes, shaded her brow as she fixed her gaze on the fallen man. But the little Hawke could still see the creases coming undone, the lips unfurling with calm breaths. It was as if all the stress was pouring off her sister's face, dissipating into the fog. "He's very dear to you, isn't he?"

The question made Hawke lift her face. She stared at her sister, swallowing the shock. "Yes..." she said, voice raspy and deep, a tattered and tired tone. Yet the utterance of each new word steamed through the pores of her skin and melted the lines under her eyes. "I love him." 

Sebastian's eyelids crinkled, his head nudged slightly. Bethany retracted her magic and stood up. "Why don't I wait out front, and you two come out when you're ready?"

Hawke blushed. "Wh, what do you mean?"

"Why, nothing at all, sister," Bethany hummed to herself as she strolled out of the solar. "I'll tell the templars to wait a few minutes."

Hawke opened her mouth to call out to her again, but Sebastian's mumbled moans stopped her thoughts. She looked down at his eyes opening, looking up at her, and smiling softly.

"Good morning," she said.

"Aww, don't tease me, now," said Sebastian. "It's been a long day."

"That's fair. You'll need lots of rest when we get back to Kirkwall."

"You won't go on too many adventures without me, I hope."

"No, I think I could use some rest, too."

"Maybe we could... rest together? I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like..."

"No, it's all right. I tried to get better on my own, but I need help. I'm sorry, Sebastian. I want to get help. I want to get better."

"I'm glad. And I'm sorry, as well. I wish I'd come to your house that night, when you needed a friend. I wish I'd taken more care to understand how you felt."

"I didn't even know how I felt... what I felt. But I think I do now."

Sebastian began raise his upper body from the floor. "I'm glad."

"Sebastian," Hawke veered closer, taking Sebastian's hands to anchor him. "I still don't know... where either of us will go from here, but I want you to know... I truly do care about you."

"I know, Hawke. I'm sorry for what I said in the Fade. I was so scared, and I was... things were said, and..."

"Was it untrue?"

"...No."

"May I kiss you?"

"Please do."

Hawke's nose brushed against the tip of Sebastian's nose, and there was a single breath shared between them before her lips pressed gently onto his. He leaned backward, his fingers combing through her hair, while hers slide up his chest and cradled his face. He laid back on the floor again, and Hawke hovered over him, her loosened hair spilled over his face. Their mouths clicked softly as they broke away, only to come back again. She swallowed the moan that escaped Sebastian's lips, and giggled.


	24. Epilogue

Epilogue

 

"Promise you'll write to me," said Bethany, one foot on the ferry back to the Gallows.

"I promise," said Hawke, her hands clasped on her sister's shoulders, with a wide yet grin, bittersweet crinkles on the sides of her mouth.

"Not just every now and then, either. At least twice a month."

"Absolutely."

"And promise me you'll get help. Don't lock yourself in anymore, blaming yourself for everything that happens."

"I will. I'm sorry for being so stubborn. I just wanted to relieve you of the guilt, but ended up making it worse."

"Well, I've done that, too. I suppose we're both pretty stubborn."

"Those Hawke Sisters, they never know when to budge."

Bethany wiped the mist from her eyes and hugged Sebastian, Isabela, and Fenris, as they stood by Hawke at the edge of the dock. When she was done, she hugged her sister. "I'll miss all of you."

"We'll be sure to find some new catastrophe again," said Isabela. "Anything to get you out again."

"I look forward to said catastrophe," said Fenris.

"It was a pleasure getting to know you," said Sebastian, "despite the circumstances."

"I have faith we'll see each other again," said Bethany, taking the second step onto the ferry. "Until that day comes, take care of my sister."

"Ha! She's more the team mom than Aveline," said Isabela. "But don't tell Aveline I said that."

Tears ran down Hawke's face, waving at the little boat, watching it shrink in the horizon, a glowing speck against the bright evening sky and sparkling sea. She waved for as long as she could manage Bethany's face.

 

The remaining four walked through Lowtown, until Isabela broke off and walked to the Hanged Man. "I'm holding you to those drinks," she said.

Then they walked the long stone stairs to Hightown, through the emptying market, and into quiet Hightown. Fenris broke off and left for his house. By the time they reached the Hawke Estate, just her and Sebastian, the evening sky lulled into a shade of dim purple.

"Don't be a stranger," said Sebastian.

"I won't," Hawke laughed. "It helps to know you're wanted."

"And you are."

"Listen... you know how I feel, and our situation is... difficult. You may yet decide you belong in the Chantry, and if you do, I won't try to stop you. Truthfully, I'm in no place right now, to be in a relationship, even if you were... I need time."

"Judith," Sebastian said softly. "I won't make you some rash promise, you deserve better. But I am certain we'll always be friends, and I want to keep supporting you, wherever life takes us. I'm always a short walk away."  

"I understand. But... if circumstances should change, and... we do end up together, down the road... don't break my heart, because I won't be able to let you go."

"Oh Judith," Sebastian sighed, tucking his head into the nape of Hawke's neck, locking his arms tight across her back.

"Ssh, it's all right," said Hawke. When he loosed himself of the hold, she took his hand. "Come on, I'll walk you home."

"That's a short walk."

"Then why don't we take the long way?"

"I'd like that."

And so they did; turned back around, and took their time through the market square, through the gardens, all the way around Hightown.


End file.
